


And Some More Death

by Ishmael_Autolycus



Series: The Deaths and Life of Jason Dean [3]
Category: Heathers (1988)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2018-11-06 05:01:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 27,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11029179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishmael_Autolycus/pseuds/Ishmael_Autolycus
Summary: He's trying to be a better, saner, less homicidal person. He really is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Strictly movie-verse. I know I said the second part of this series was going to be the end, but my muse started poking me with this shortly afterward.  
> As before, all Spanish dialogue courtesy of Google Translate.

“Happy Monday.” JD pulls the car door shut and leans over to give Veronica a quick kiss, then turns slightly. “Hey Heather. So did you guys- Betty? Wow.” Betty Finn is sitting in the back seat, next to Heather MacNamara. “Looking good.”

Rather than one of the baggy, shapeless outfits she usually wears, Betty is dressed in a trim purple jacket with a lighter purple skirt. The almost comically over-sized glasses are gone, replaced by thin gold frames, and her hair has been styled as well. “Th-thanks,” she stammers, ducking her head and blushing.

“So this is what your super secret mysterious weekend plans were all about.”

“Yup,” Veronica answers.

“See?” Heather pokes Betty as Veronica shifts into gear and pulls away from the curb. “You look good, girl. And I still think you should start using your real name.”

Betty's head comes up. “Betty is my real name.”

“I mean your full, um, your like, legal name.”

JD shoots Veronica a questioning look. “Beatriz,” she supplies.

“It's exotic, unique,” Heather continues, “and not the most freaking common name in America. I mean, do you have any idea how many Heathers there are at Westerburg? Like a dozen, at least. And probably half of those are Heather Annes too, which just makes it worse.”

Betty folds her arms over her chest. “My name is Betty.” JD looks at Veronica, who just rolls her eyes and shakes her head. 

“But-” Heather throws up her hands. “Okay, fine.”

JD's eyes dart between the three girls, then he frowns slightly. “Wait, Heather Anne MacNamara? H A-”

“Yes,” Heather groans. “H A M. My initials spell out ham. My parents are morons.”

JD's mouth quirks in a one-sided smile. “Maybe not quite as bad but... Jason Edward Dean.”

Heather frowns. “Jason Ed- Jed? Like the guy in that old TV show on Channel 20? Uncle Jed? The one with Granny and the 'cee-ment pond'?”

“Yup,” JD answers with an exaggerated drawl. “That's the one, I reckon.”

Heather laughs. “What about you guys? Betty?”

Betty smiles and shakes her head. “Sorry. Beatriz Sabela Catarina Finn.”

Heather blinks. “Wow. You have two middle names? Is it because you're Spanish. I mean, your family is, kinda?”

Betty rolls her eyes. “No, it's because my mom is old-fashioned and kind of pretentious. Most of-” she hesitates, then continues, “La mayoría de mis primos ni siquiera tienen un segundo nombre, mucho menos un tercio.”

“Ooh,” Heather groans. “Now?”

Betty nods. “You said.”

“Yeah, I know. Okay, um, most of your um, your primos, your um, your... cousins?”

“Si.”

“Most of your cousins don't have a second name, or a- or even a third one?”

Betty smiles. “You've got it.”

Heather grins back. “But um, pero... ellos tiene... dos apellidos, si? The, um, el apellido paterno y um... la? No el. El apellido materno.”

“Ellos tienen,” Betty corrects. “But, si.”

“Tienen,” Heather repeats. “Tienen, tienen, tienen. Ooh, what about you, Veronica?”

Veronica's eyes flick to the rearview mirror, then back to the road. “Oh it's boring,” she says as they turn into the school parking lot. “It doesn't spell anything.”

“So what is it?”

“Um, it's uh-”

Betty loudly clears her throat. Veronica narrows her eyes at Betty's image in the rearview mirror, which Betty responds to with a surprisingly evil smirk.

JD's eyebrows rise and he leans back against the door. “Yeah, Veronica, what is your middle name?”

Veronica pulls into the closest open parking space and slumps against the steering wheel. “Denise,” she mutters. “My middle name is Denise.”

Heather tilts her head. “Denise is a pretty name. “What's wrong with-”

“Denise,” JD repeats. “Veronica Denise.” A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. “So that means your initials would be-”

Veronica straightens and turns to glare at JD. “Finish that and I swear every one of you is walking to school from now on,” she growls.

JD looks at her for a long moment, then turns to Heather as his face blossoms into a full-fledged grin. “Y'know, my name doesn't seem so bad now.”

Heather shakes her head, her own smile equally wide. “Nope. Mine neither.”

Veronica groans and slumps against the steering wheel again. “I hate you all,” she mutters. “Sadists. My parents are a couple of freaking sadists.”

After a few more not-so-quietly muttered imprecations, Veronica sighs and gets out of the car, joining the others. Betty is darting nervous glances toward the school entrance, and her shoulders are starting to hunch. “Hey,” Veronica says, stepping in front of Betty. “Chin up, shoulders back, tits out, remember?”

Betty flashes a quick, closed-mouth smile but complies.

Veronica smiles back. “Thatta girl.”

“We're going to walk in there, and by the end of the day you'll have your pick of boyfriends,” Heather adds. “Guaranteed.” Betty's eyes widen, and she darts another nervous glance toward the school.

“Just because they want you, doesn't mean you any of them a damn thing,” Veronica says. “Somebody wants to be your boyfriend, make him earn that shit.” Betty's eyes shift to JD, then back to Veronica. “OK, well maybe don't do things exactly like me and JD.”

JD lifts his arm the few inches the sling allows before letting it fall back. “Definitely don't.”

Betty nods. “G-got it.”

Veronica links her arm with JD's good one. “You ready?” Betty takes a deep breath and nods sharply, stepping up beside Veronica, with Heather taking up station on Betty's other side. “Let's go knock 'em dead.”

They had parked on the far side of the parking lot, and he realizes Veronica and Heather are deliberately keeping their pace to a casual stroll as they cross toward the school. The lot is filled with other students, all trying to stretch out the last few minutes before they have to go inside. He can see a few heads turn toward them, then a few more as a ripple of awareness goes through the crowd, until it feels like every eye is on them as they start to climb the stairs. A quick glance to the side shows him Betty has noticed the attention too, but except for her wide eyes she seems as cool and indifferent as Veronica and Heather to either side. They step through the doors and enter the school.

He gives Veronica's arm a squeeze and pulls his arm from hers. “See ya in the caf.” His homeroom is in the opposite direction from any of theirs.

“See ya,” Veronica answers, giving him a bright smile. Betty and Heather smile as well, Heather lifting her hand and waggling her fingers in farewell.

“Betty Finn, I don't believe it.” He turns back to see Heather Duke, flanked by Courtney and another preppy brunette, approaching. They stop, the two groups of girls squaring off. “Violet is totally your color,” Heather continues. “I mean, a lot of girls with your coloring would look just, I mean like absolutely ridiculous in purple but you, you totally pull it off.”

“Um, thank you,” Betty responds.

Heather Duke tilts her head slightly. “Although...”

Blinding pain shoots up JD's injured arm as someone jostles him from behind. His lips curl in a snarl as he turns to find Lance Palmer and Pat Roberts, respectively the point guard and the small forward on Westerburg's basketball team, and the leading contenders to take Kurt and Ram's place as head jocks of the school. Indeed, if the basketball team's season had been a little better, or the football team's a little worse, they would have been, with Kurt and Ram relegated to second place.

“Watch where you're going, dickface,” Pat snaps.

Just for a moment, JD can practically feel the weight of his gun in his hand, can see Ram's uncomprehending surprise and Kurt's terrified realization superimposed over Pat's and Lance's faces. Then his mind snaps back to the present and he snarls, “Fuck you, asshole.”

“You little-”

Lance stops Pat with a hand on his shoulder. “Be cool, man. It was an accident,” he says, looking at JD as he speaks.

JD cradles his throbbing arm. He hadn't missed Lance's glance down the hallway to where Mr. Hyde is talking with Mr. Drake. “Yeah, fine, whatever.”

Pat sneers, “Fucking freak,” but allows Lance to lead him away.

JD turns back to see Heather Duke sauntering away with a triumphant smirk on her face, her two followers in tow. He catches a glimpse of Betty's hunched purple shoulders as she hurries away, while Veronica glares after Heather Duke, her fists clenched tightly by her side. Heather MacNamara darts worried glances between them until a peremptory gesture sends her scurrying after Betty. Veronica turns her head and catches his eye.

Even across a crowded hallway, he knows that look in her eyes. He'd seen it when she'd said, “But first, I wanna see Heather Chandler puke her guts out”, when she had told him of the rumor about her and Kurt and Ram that was being spread throughout the school, and even, before she'd forced it down, when she'd talked of slitting Heather Duke's wrists, and something dark and savage in him perks up in anticipation. Recognition flares in her eyes, then Miss Fleming's hand on her shoulder jerks her attention away. He turns and retreats to his homeroom/first period class. It takes him until almost the end of third period before that dark and savage thing is safely slumbering once more.


	2. Chapter 2

“Holy crap, how much longer can she milk this shit?”

JD glances over to where Veronica has collapsed face-down on the bed, then turns his attention back to Friedrich, aka Der Uber-Hamster, who continues to run in his wheel, ignoring them both. “You didn't have to volunteer, you know,” he responds mildly, pouring a handful of pellets into the hamster's food bowl.

Veronica groans as she turns over. “Yeah, I did. There's no way I'm letting Heather Duke and Miss Phlegm be the only people designing this 'memorial to our tragically lost fellow students'. God only knows what sort of tacky monstrosity they'd come up with.”

He closes the box of hamster food and puts it back on the shelf. “Well, we can always blow it up if it's too horrendous.”

That surprises a laugh out of her. “Don't tempt me.” She sits up. “How was Cincinnati?”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, just peachy.”

“Still trying to do the whole father-son bonding thing?”

He nods. “I liked it better when he worked all the time and just threw money at me until I went away. But,” he continues, opening one of the desk drawers and rummaging inside, “I was able to get a little time off on my own. One of his old Army buddies- Andy, I think his name was- moved there to work at some radio station or other. Not a DJ, some kind of manager-type thing.” He pulls a gift-wrapped box out and shuts the drawer. “Anyway, they went out for drinks and bullshitting and I... was able to get this for you.” He presents the box to her with a slight bow.

She beams as she takes the box and stands. She kisses him, then sits back down on the edge of the bed and tears the paper off. She pulls off the lid to reveal a darkly gleaming Beretta Bobcat, along with a pair of fully-loaded magazines.

He scratches at the back of his neck as she stares silently at the box in her lap. “I um, I knew you liked the one you had um, earlier and um-”

Her head comes up. “JD,” she says slowly. “You're not... planning anyth-”

“No! I just thought- Y'know what? Never mind.” He reaches for the box. “I'll just-”

“Hey!” She hugs the box to her chest. He stops, his confusion obvious. “I didn't- I mean, I don't- Oh!” She reaches out and pulls him in for a long, hard kiss. “I'm sorry,” she murmurs, her forehead pressed against his, once the kiss has ended. “That was very sweet of you. Thank you.”

“Yeah, well...” He shrugs.

He sits down on the bed beside her as she pulls the gun out of the box. “And I did like the one I had, um, before,” she says as she inspects the gun- tipping up the barrel, working the slide, inserting and ejecting one of the magazines- before putting it back in the box. She laughs softly. “You know, most guys surprise their girlfriend with flowers. Or chocolate.”

“Yeah, but you're not most girls.”

“Good answer.” She kisses him again. “Although, for future reference, the occasional box of chocolate wouldn't be entirely unwelcome.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” he says, and kisses her.

Later, as they snuggle beneath his bedspread, she says musingly, “I mean, as long as we don't y'know, like, actually do anything, there's nothing wrong with indulging in a few... harmless fantasies, right?”

A part of him wonders if that's even possible for them anymore, for him especially, but he kisses her forehead and murmurs, “Right.” She smiles and pulls his head down for another long, deep kiss.

A pair of bandages on her inner arm, just below the fold of her elbow, catch his eye, once their kiss has ended. He lightly touches one of the bandages with his forefinger and looks at her enquiringly.

She's silent for a long moment, looking into his eyes, then she says quietly, haltingly, “Cigarette. I... had a couple of... bad nights while we were... apart.”

He kisses her then, in wordless promise.


	3. Chapter 3

“Uneasy lies the head.” JD takes a bite of his- well it looks like ground beef, only grayer, and the whatever-it-is melted over the top looks like cheese, despite the the definite tinge of green- so call it a cheeseburger, for lack of a better term.

“And just what are you babbling about now?” Veronica takes a french fry from the pile on JD's tray, drags it through the puddle of mustard on her tray, and then pops it in her mouth.

“Hey! It's not my fault they ran out before you got there. Besides, you have tater tots.”

“How very. Besides, girlfriend's privilege.” She drags another fry through the mustard and pops it in her mouth.

“You know that's just weird, right?”

“Says the guy who puts vinegar on his.”

“Malt vinegar.”

“Which they don't have, so you weren't going to eat them anyway.”

“Not the point.”

“The tater tots actually aren't too bad today,” Betty says, spearing one with her spork and dipping it into the ketchup on her tray.

“Wish I could say the same for the pizza,” Heather responds with a grimace of distaste. “It's even more cardboardy than usual this week.” She pokes at it with one finger. “I think it is cardboard.”

“And it's all your fault.” JD takes another bite of his burger.

“But I had cheeseburgers the last three Friday's in a row,” Heather wails.

“Wha-” JD swallows. “Not you. Her.”

“Excuse me?” Veronica raises a hand and theatrically pats at her hair. “Did someone put a hairnet on me while I wasn't looking?”

JD rolls his eyes. “Not the food. Heather. Duke.”

Veronica looks across the caf to where Heather Duke is sitting at a table with Courtney and three other girls, then back to JD. “And again, just what are you babbling about?”

“You haven't challenged her, haven't tried to become the new 'most popular' girl, the one everyone supposedly either wants or wants to be,” Betty answers, dipping another tater tot in her ketchup. “That's what she'd do, in your position. And she can't figure out why you haven't.” She looks up at the sudden silence, her eyes wide. “Uh, th-that's what you meant, r-right?”

JD blinks. “Umm, yeah. Right. Exactly.”

Veronica closes her open mouth. “How-Wha-How- Betty?”

“I'm a good guesser?” Betty carefully sets down her tater tot-laden spork. “I um, I want to be a diplomat,” she says to the food remaining on her tray. “For the UN.” She looks up, meeting Veronica's eyes. “And I know it's just high school and not anything like, important and- and stuff, but it kinda is a kind of politics with all the different cliques and who's talking to who and um, I've been watching and- and trying to- to figure things out.”

“I-” Veronica shakes her head. “I didn't know.”

“Yeah, well...” Betty looks down at her tray again.

“Wow,” Heather says. “So you'd be like, an ambassador or something?”

Betty wrinkles her nose. “Ambassadors just show up to get their pictures taken when the treaty's ready to be signed. I want to be the person who writes the treaty.” She looks over to Veronica. “Honestly, I kind of figured you'd be the one to take Heather Chandler's place, after, um, after.”

“Yeah, well...” Veronica shrugs and takes another french fry from JD's tray. “Not sure I want to anymore.” She gestures over to where Rodney is standing, milk and ketchup and other, less identifiable substances dripping down his shirt. A lunch tray lies at his feet and the table full of jocks next to him are laughing so hard one of them falls out of his chair, to the further amusement of his colleagues. “I mean, it wasn't just Heather making everything like it is, it's everyone.” She blows out a breath in a heavy sigh. “I don't know, sometimes I think the best thing would be just to blow the whole thing up-”

JD's eyebrows rise.

“-metaphorically speaking,” she continues, narrowing her eyes at him, “but then, what comes next? Heaven, with everyone magically getting along? Or just more of the same old hell that is Westerburg?” She smiles wryly. “Plus if I did take Heather's place, then I'd be the one having to deal with Heather's shit.” Her gaze shifts to Heather Duke's table. “I mean, I feel bad for her, kinda, and I hope she gets some help, but at the same time I just don't have the patience anymore.”

Betty tilts her head curiously while Heather looks down at her tray. “Yeah,” Heather says faintly.

“Besides,” Veronica continues, turning back to the others at her table, “we've got what, less than two months to summer vacation?” Her eyes meet JD's. “I just want to leave all this craziness behind us.”

“Totally,” Heather agrees. “This year has been insane. I can't wait for summer to get here. So, what's everyone doing?”

JD leans back and scratches at the back of his neck. “I ah, I hadn't really thought that far ahead.” His eyes meet Veronica's again. “Guess I should probably start.”

Betty takes a deep breath. “I-I'm going to work on trying to earn a Gold Award.”

“Seriously?” Veronica asks. Betty nods. Veronica grins. “That's great. What's your project going to be? And we're totally in, by the way.”

Heather and JD look at each other in mutual bafflement, then back to Betty and Veronica. “Um...” Heather raises her hand. “What's a Gold Award?”

“Girl Scouts,” Veronica answers. “It means you're like the tip-top, best of the best, that kind of thing.”

“Kind of like Eagle Scout for girls, then?” JD asks.

Betty nods. “Pretty much.”

“Cool.”

“Anyway,” Betty continues, “we just sent my proposal in to the council last-” The first bell rings, interrupting Betty and dismissing the students from lunch. 

“Let's talk about it on the way home,” Veronica says as they stand. “You can give us all the details then.” 

They gather up their trays and dump the contents into the nearest trash can before stacking the trays on a rolling shelf next to the trash can. Their path out of the caf takes them past the table where Heather Duke and her companions are gathering up their own trays and starting to stand. Veronica and Heather Duke eye each other warily as they pass, then a folded piece of paper lands on the table in front of Courtney. “Keep practicing,” Betty says over her shoulder, not pausing as she goes past.

Veronica has told him a bit about the rules of “the note trick”, and one of the big ones was that Heather Chandler was the one who selected, or at least had to approve the selection of, the victim. From Heather Duke's sudden glare and Courtney's cringe, it seems that rule still applies. One of the other girls looks across the caf and he follows her gaze to the table in the corner where Martha usually sits. She's gone already- she's turning out to be surprisingly quick on that scooter of hers- but a piece of folded paper lying on the otherwise bare table tells its own story.

“I've known you since we were seven, Veronica,” Betty is saying as he catches up with them. “I saw the note Laura got, the one that was supposed to be from Kyle Cooper?”

Veronica and Heather both look away, not meeting Betty's eyes. “I remember,” Veronica says quietly.

“Even afterwards, I still couldn't tell it wasn't real.” Betty pauses, then adds in a quieter voice, “I'm just glad I never got one.”

“Oh no, you were entirely off limits,” Heather says earnestly. “We all knew that.”

“How very,” Betty responds dryly.

Courtney is along the outer edge of Heather Duke's entourage, rather than in her usual place next to Heather, and she directs a murderous glare at Betty as they pass.

“Looks like you've made an enemy,” Veronica comments.

Betty grimaces. “It's not like we were ever friends.” The second bell rings then, and they separate to go to their respective classes.


	4. Chapter 4

“Ooh, drop both of us off at my house,” Heather says. “Somebody's going to that new Michael Keaton movie. Again.”

JD twists in his seat. “I heard about that. Isn't he supposed to be some kind of crazy ghost or something in this one?”

“Kind of,” Betty answers.

Veronica glances in the rearview mirror. “Damn girl, it's barely been a week and this is what, your third date already? Who's the lucky guy?”

“Dale McLaughlin. And don't get too excited. He only asked me because Heather said no.”

Veronica and JD share a brief glance, unnoticed by the other two. While Heather has thrown herself into coaching Betty, she hasn't been on a date herself since Ram's death, despite being asked at least twice that they know of. Make that three times.

“I'm sure that's not the only reason,” Heather says. “And besides, what about Josh Hardesty?” She turns to JD and Veronica. “Homeroom the other day, he asks me for Betty's number. Me.” She glares at Betty. “Boys ask other girls for my number. Not the other way around.”

Betty smirks in response.

“I don't have to let you borrow those boots y'know,” Heather adds. Now that Betty has stopped slouching and otherwise attempting to go unnoticed, it turns out she's about the same height and build as Heather, and the two can easily share clothes.

“Those oxblood suede ones?” Veronica asks.

Heather wrinkles her nose. “I hate that name, but oh my God, do they make your legs and butt look awesome.”

“Yeah, if you're some leggy Amazon supermodel like you two,” Veronica grumbles.

“They didn't work so well for Veronica when she tried them on,” Heather explains in a stage whisper to Betty.

Betty nods solemnly. “Well, she is kind of short,” she stage whispers back.

Veronica narrows her eyes at their images in the rearview mirror. “The word is petite, thank you very much.”

JD smirks. “Well, I still like you.”

Veronica stops the car at a red light. “Thank you.”

“Stumpy little legs and all.”

Veronica's jaw drops. She takes one hand off the steering wheel and punches JD in the thigh.

“Ow!” JD yells, clutching at his leg. Veronica holds up her fist and scowls at him. He grabs her fist and brings it to his lips, kissing the back of her hand.

Heather and Betty share an amused glance as Veronica's scowl softens. “Jerk.”

“Green light,” Heather says. “And I better not find a trace of dirt on them when you're done.”

“Got it.” Betty wrinkles her nose. “And Josh Hardesty? Eww, no thank you.”

“So I shouldn't have told him you'd love to go to the Ratt concert next weekend?”

“Heather!”

JD looks over at Veronica. “Who?”

“Lion. Grenade.” She mimes an explosion, then grabs the wheel again to negotiate an upcoming turn.

“That guy?” He twists in his seat again to face the two in the back. Veronica had told him about some of the more interesting answers to what had turned out to be the last lunchtime poll. “Yeah, no. There is something seriously wrong with that kid.”

“Thank you,” Betty says, narrowing her eyes at Heather, who's slumped against the car door, giggling. “At least some people in this vehicle have standards.”

Veronica turns the wheel and pulls into the MacNamara's driveway, then shifts into park and turns to face Betty. “Seriously though, you're still kind of new at all this and-”

“I'll be fine, Ronnie,” Betty interrupts, opening her door. “Just let me have a little fun before all this... goes away.” She steps out of the car. “And I go back to being just another dweebette.”

JD says nothing, just watches Veronica as she backs out of the MacNamara's driveway. He opens the glove compartment as they drive away, takes out a pack of cigarettes, shakes two out of the pack, places them in his mouth and pulls out a lighter. He lights both cigarettes and takes one from his mouth, holding it out to Veronica as she yanks the wheel to one side and pulls off the road with a screech of brakes.

Veronica takes the cigarette and inhales a lung-full of smoke with a shuddering intake of breath, then lets it out with a steady exhale. Her second and third inhales are each progressively smoother, and the third exhale is followed by a soft laugh. “The thing is, I can't really blame her for thinking that way, can I? I mean, let's face it, I've been a pretty shitty friend. If Heather were still alive...” She contemplates the lit tip of her cigarette. “Do you ever wish your dad had taken that job in Idaho instead?”

“All the time,” JD answers, taking a drag on his cigarette. “And... no.”

“Yeah,” Veronica says softly. “Me too.” She takes another drag on her cigarette, then stubs it out in the car's ashtray. “I'll let you buy me a Slushie on the way home.” She shifts into gear and pulls away from the curb.

Heather Duke is in the parking lot as they pull up to the Snappy Snack Shack, leaning in the driver's window of a red Pontiac Firebird. She straightens as she notices them, and they can see Lance Palmer in the driver's seat, with Pat Roberts riding shotgun.

They come out after getting their Slushies to find Heather still in the parking lot, lounging against the side of her car, although Lance and Pat have left. “I just wanted you to know, what went down at lunch, with the note thing? That wasn't my doing.”

“Yeah, I know,” Veronica answers as she opens her car door.

Heather's eyes flick to JD, then back to Veronica. “Westerburg needs a strong leader.”

Veronica pauses, then turns to look fully at Heather. “Turning out to be a little harder than you thought?”

“Oh, I can handle it,” Heather answers. “But the important thing is a strong leader. Singular.”

JD's eyebrows rise. He props his foot on the front bumper as he sips on his Slushie.

Veronica snorts. “I'm not interested in joining your little clique.”

“I'm not interested in having you.”

Veronica sets her Slushie on the roof of her car. “So what do you want?”

“It's simple. I won't even ask you to support me. Just, don't challenge me, or oppose what I'm doing. And in return, I'll make sure you and all of your little clique get left alone.”

“And if I don't?”

“Then I'll destroy every one of you. Starting with Betty.” Heather smiles thinly. “Tell me, Veronica, did you really think your little makeover was all that it took to transform Miss Frumpy Finn into the hottest little cookie at Westerburg?” She shakes her head. “Oh it helped, certainly. But so did a few discreet whispers in the right ears. And that's all it will take to end her fun too.” Heather tilts her head. “Has she chosen the lucky guy who will make her a woman? Or is she still eeny-meeny-miney-mo-ing?”

Veronica slams her door shut and takes a step toward Heather. “If you think I'll just sit back and let-”

“They're never going to find that homeless guy, are they?”

JD drops his Slushie. Veronica stammers, “Wha- What do you-”

“Look,” Heather interrupts, “I don't really give a flying fuck about whatever reindeer games you two are playing. I've got more important things to worry about. Now, do we have a deal or don't we?”

Veronica looks over to JD, then back to Heather. “D-” She clears her throat. “Deal.”

“I thought you'd see it my way.” Heather opens her car door and steps inside, slamming the door behind her. “Have a nice weekend, you two,” she calls mockingly out her window as she drives away.


	5. Chapter 5

It's been a week and they're no closer to figuring out exactly how much Heather Duke knows- if she knows anything at all and isn't just bluffing them. At least five times a day he decides the risk isn't worth it and they need to arrange another 'suicide'. Just as often, he concludes that if she really doesn't know anything, then deliberately killing Heather Duke would be nothing short of straight-up murder. Heather Chandler's death had been an accident, more or less, and Ram and Kurt- well, he was not entirely sane by that point. That's a thin rationalization though, as thin as an ich luge bullet. After all, he'd been sane enough to plan out their murders. And more. Still, it was enough to tell himself that he wasn't a bad person, just that he'd done some bad things. And maybe, that meant he could do better things in the future, And Heather did seem to be keeping up her end of the deal she'd proposed. Still though, there was always the risk-

Heather MacNamara drops her books on her desk, making him jump, and flops into her seat. “Hey JD.” She pulls a yellow folder from the middle of the stack and places it to one side, then picks up the rest of her books and stows them on the shelf beneath her seat.

JD stares at the yellow folder. The report inside is worth twenty percent of their final grade in American History, and it's due today. “Shit.” He scrambles out of his seat, hisses “Cover me,” and dashes out of the classroom.

It wasn't that he hadn't done the report- he actually rather enjoys doing research, if not the writing-it-up part- but Veronica had helped with that. He'd put it in his locker when they'd arrived at school that morning and then completely forgotten to pick it up before going to class. And of course his locker is over at the opposite end of the school, near the gym.

He grabs the gray folder and slams his locker closed just as the late bell rings, when Veronica stumbles out of the gym door. Her hair is mussed and her eyes are wild. “Veronica, what-”

Her eyes focus on him. She grabs his wrist and hisses, “Come on!”

She tows him rapidly after her through the empty gym and over to the boiler room door. She opens it and pulls him inside, shutting the door behind them.

Veronica snatches the folder out of his hand and throws it on the floor, then shoves something into his chest before grabbing at her hair with both hands. “OhmyGod. OhmyGod. Oh my fucking God.”

He fumbles for a moment, almost dropping the item before getting a firm grip on it. He almost drops it again when he realizes what he's holding. It's a small jar, and inside is a severed human finger, floating in murky liquid.

“She said she wanted to talk and then she pulled me in here and said this was too important for high school bullshit and about how we used to be friends and I needed to tell my parents or someone or she would and she pulled that out and- and-” Veronica points to the crumpled form of Heather Duke, lying at the bottom of the boiler room stairs.

He almost drops the jar a third time. “You shoved her down the stairs? You shoved her down the fucking stairs?”

“I panicked, okay? I panicked and- and she fell and- and- People fall down stairs all the fucking time. They don't break their fucking necks like in some kind of bad movie or something!”

He goes down to the bottom of the stairs, absentmindedly stowing the jar in his sling. Veronica is right behind, leaning over him as he crouches down to examine Heather's corpse. He runs his good hand through his hair as he straightens. “I don't see how we're gonna make this one look like another suicide.”

“Well, you need to think of something."

Even with only one good arm, he's still fast enough and strong enough to slam her into the wall. “I need to think of something?” Her eyes widen, her mouth opening in a gasp as he presses against her, using the weight of his body to hold her. “This one's all you, babe. I wasn't even here.”

“Please,” she breathes.

He presses against her for a moment more, his eyes locked with hers. Then his mouth is on hers- or hers on his, he's not really sure- and she's arching her back and their tongues are tangling and-

“Wait, wait, fuck JD, wait!” she gasps out, twisting her head to one side. “We- We need to-”

“Oh. Shit.” He steps back, releasing her and turning his attention back to the body lying at their feet. “Right.”

“Yeah.” She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, and they both stare at the body for a long moment.

He snaps his fingers. “Shoes!”

“What?”

“Hold her foot,” he orders, dropping to his knees. She follows, dropping to her knees and grasping Heather's foot with both hands. He wraps his good hand around the high heel and wrenches until it separates from the rest of the shoe with a sharp crack. “There. A tragic accident, right?”

She drops Heather's foot and nods. “Right. An accident.” She gets to her feet and starts up the stairs. “Come on, let's get out of here before anyone comes out of the locker room.”

He follows, grabbing his report on the way. She cracks the door open and they can hear the sounds of balls bouncing on the floor of the gym. She grimaces and closes the door. It had actually been easier for her to sneak out of the full gym during the pep rally, since the open bleachers masked the boiler room door and the path to the exit. With the bleachers pushed back against the walls, there's nothing to hide them now, even though there are far fewer people.

He tucks the report under his arm and holds out his hand. “Follow me.” They go back down the stairs and into the boiler room, stepping over Heather Duke's body on the way. He leads her past the boiler to a second set of stairs. “This comes out in that janitor's closet next to the teacher's lounge,” he explains as they start up the stairs.

“I wondered how you got out so fast.” She grabs the hair at the back of his head and kisses him hard. “Thank you,” she murmurs, pressing her forehead against his.

“We- We'd better get to class,” he breathes. “Alibi.”

“Right.”

He eases the door to the hallway open, relieved to find it empty. One more quick kiss and they separate to go to their respective classes. He tries to slip in quietly as the teacher is writing on the board, but halfway to his seat the teacher says without turning around, “Mr. Dean, so nice of you to join us.”

He holds up his report with a rueful smile. “I ah, I left it in the car. Didn't want to turn it in late.”

The teacher turns around then. “Technically, you were late once the late bell rang. But go ahead and put it with the others.” He nods to the pile of reports on his desk and turns back to the board.

Heather MacNamara leans over after he's put his report with the others and taken his seat, whispering, “Is everything okay?”

“Fine, fine. Everything's fine.”

She gives him a doubtful look, but the teacher has turned back around to face the class, so she doesn't say anything more.

Heather darts him several more concerned looks, so he makes up some bullshit excuse and bolts as soon as class is over. Heather Duke's death has left him off balance in a way he hasn't felt since Heather Chandler's death, and that ended with him killing two people and trying to kill a lot more. It would be easy- far too easy- to fall into that madness again. Not that there aren't still plenty of kids at Westerburg who will never be anything other than complete and utter assholes their entire lives, plenty of Heathers who will bring nothing but pain and misery to the Marthas of the world and it would be a kindness, it truly would, to end that suffering and-

“Woah. Sorry, man.”

He's at the doorway to his next class, his body apparently operating on autopilot. This kid must have been trying to exit as he was entering. He steps back, clearing the doorway and waving the kid through.

Relief blossoms on the kid's face. “Thanks, JD.” He steps through the doorway and hurries down the hall.

JD stares after him. The face is vaguely familiar, but he doesn't have the first clue what the kid's name might be, or how he knows JD's. What if he knows more than just JD's name? What if- JD shakes his head. Some random kid recognized him, that's all. He enters the classroom and takes his seat. As long as he acts normally- As long as they act normally- Oh Christ, is Veronica going to be able to hold it together? She has to, or they're both fucked. At least with the others they had had some time alone to catch their breath. And fuck.

And fuck. Her soft lips hot and eager against his, the curve of her breast fitting perfectly into his hand, her-

“Put everything beneath your seats except for your pencils and a piece of scratch paper.” The teacher smirks at the multiple groans and picks up a stack of papers from her desk. “Take one and pass the rest back.”

JD has never felt so grateful for a pop quiz in his life, especially one in Pre-calculus. It will keep his mind occupied, keep him from thinking about... other things, at least for a while.


	6. Chapter 6

Focusing on logarithms and polynomial functions and the like gives him some respite, but it doesn't last. The rest of the school day is an instant eternal blur as a thousand thousand thoughts whirl about in his brain. What does- did- Heather Duke know? Who else did she tell? Are the cops even now- would they come in guns blazing? Or something more subtle? Christ, he should have his gun, expulsion be damned, something to give him a chance-

The dismissal bell rings, catching him by surprise. The girls are already waiting by the car; Heather MacNamara is bouncing up and down on her toes, a wide smile on her face. “We got the wild card slot!”

“Regionals,” Veronica explains.

“That's great.” He grins at Heather. “Congratulations.”

Heather's smile grows even wider. “Thanks.”

“They'll be up against schools from all over the Midwest,” Betty adds.

Heather's bouncing stops. “Oh God, don't remind me.”

“What?” Veronica opens her door and gets in the car. “You guys have totally got this.”

“Ooh, I hope so.”

“I'm surprised Go-Go Gowan didn't make a special announcement or something.” JD closes his door. “None of the other teams made it to regionals, or whatever, did they?”

Veronica and Betty both roll their eyes. “Yeah, but cheerleading isn't a 'real' sport,” Veronica says dryly as she shifts into reverse and backs out of the parking space.

JD's eyebrows rise. “Seems pretty damn athletic to me.”

“OhmyGod, OhmyGod, OhmyGod.” Heather's hands flutter frantically in the air. “We're going to need all new routines and- and- we haven't really been practicing, not like we should've, and- and-”

“Heather.” Betty grabs Heather's hands and brings them down to clasp between her own. “Heather. Relax. So you have to do some two-fer days, big deal.”

“Two-a-days,” Heather corrects absently. “But-”

“And do you really expect us to believe that you don't already have at least a dozen new routines already thoroughly planned out and ready to go?”

“Well, I might have a couple,” Heather admits.

JD had been surprised to learn that many of the longer, more elaborate cheers- the ones Westerburg's cheerleading squad did at halftimes and other times the teams weren't on the field or court or wherever- had in fact been choreographed by Heather. He suspects the reason she didn't get elected captain had more to do with her status as a Heather than any lack of ability on her part. For some reason Westerburg's cheerleaders aren't quite as high in the social hierarchy as at other schools he's attended. It wouldn't surprise him if some of the girls on the squad had taken the chance to cut down a Heather in the only way they could.

Heather and Betty continue to talk in the back seat as they drive to Betty's house. In front, JD glances over at Veronica several times, but she refuses to meet his eyes, keeping her gaze fixed on the road. It isn't until they've dropped Betty and Heather off and are driving away that her eyes meet his. “Don't start,” she snaps.

“Oh no, I'll leave the whole starting things business to you,” he returns evenly. “Since that's gone so well this far.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean?”

“You're the one who wanted Heather Chandler to 'puke her guts out'. I barely even knew who she was, much less where she lived or anything.”

“Excuse me?” She wheels around the corner with a screech of tires. A horn blares from somewhere behind them. “I'm not the one who poured Heather a drain cleaner cocktail.”

“No, you're just the one who picked it up off the counter and started taking it to her. But let me guess, you didn't realize which one it was.” His hand shoots out to brace against the dash as she turns into her driveway and slams on the brakes, stopping the car inches from the lowered garage door. “So I guess it's my fault for not stopping you. Just like everything else is my fucking fault.”

“Fuck. You.” She slams the car door closed. “I knew exactly which cup it was, I never said I didn't. I just didn't think it would actually-” She shakes her head. “Anyway,” she continues, unlocking the back door to the house, “I'm not the one who flat-out lied.”

He follows her inside, closing the door behind them. “Jesus fucking Christ, you're bringing that up again?” They pass through the kitchen to the rear stairs. “I gave you the out you fucking wanted, so you could pret-”

She whirls. “I fucking wanted? I wanted them humiliated, you ass! Laughing stocks. Not martyrs for gay fucking tolerance or- or- whatever.” She turns and stomps up the stairs. “Fucking psycho asshole.”

He follows her up the stairs. “That's right, I was fucking crazy. What's your excuse?”

Her answering slap knocks him into the wall. He gives his head a shake, eyeing her as she stands, her fists clenched, then he charges, bodyslamming her into her bedroom door. Her legs come up, wrapping around his hips as he kisses her, their tongues tangling. Her fingers grip the hair at the back of his head. She fumbles at the doorknob with her free hand, then her legs drop and they're stumbling through the doorway to land on her bed. She glares up at him, teeth bared in a feral snarl, “God, I fucking hate you,” and pulls him down to her.

“Good.” He kisses her fiercely, pressing her into the mattress. She meets his force and his fury with teeth and claws and feminine rage, driving all other thoughts from both of their minds.


	7. Chapter 7

"Oh shut up. It's not like I haven't bitten you before."

"Yeah, but this time you actually drew blood," JD answers, twisting his head to examine the bandage on his collarbone. Veronica has a surprisingly well-equipped first aid kit. Or perhaps not so surprisingly, considering those scars on her inner thighs. "And it feels like you took all the skin off my back."

She rolls her eyes. "It's just a few scratches and anyway, I said I was sorry." She picks the kit up off the bed and carries it into the bathroom, the edges of her robe fluttering behind her. "Besides, you weren't exactly gentle either. I'm surprised I'm not one big bruise."

"Again, I apologize profusely."

"Yeah, yeah," she calls out over the sound of running water. "So anyway, rather than trying to figure out the whole social hierarchy at yet another new school, you decided to go with 'nobody messes with the crazy kid' instead?"

He lies back on the bed, folding his arms behind his head. "Pretty much. I knew there'd be someone like Ram and Kurt, and I knew, sooner or later, they'd want to 'show the new kid how things are at Westerburg'." 

"Sounds like a brilliant plan." She lounges in the doorway, one hand toying with the edge of her robe. "They wouldn't know how to deal with something so far outside of what they're used to."

"Exactly. But then life threw this monkey wrench right into the middle of my plans for surviving Sherwood, Ohio." He turns on his side to face her, bracing himself on one elbow and deliberately looking her up and down. "This smart, sexy, beautiful monkey wrench."

"Oh really?" Her lips curl in a small smile and she runs her gaze up and down his body in response. "Is that all I am to you?" She stalks forward, letting the robe slip from her shoulders and down her arms to pool at her feet. "Just-"

The bedroom door flies open. "Veronigahh!"

Veronica snatches up her robe. "Holy Jesus fuck, Heather! What the hell?"

"Shit shit sorry shit."

JD grabs a pillow to cover himself and twists around in time to see Heather spin about and push a wide-eyed Betty out the door, slamming it behind them. He turns back to Veronica. "Uhh..."

A knock sounds on the closed bedroom door. "Veronica?" Heather calls. "I just- I really need to talk to you, so could you like, put some clothes on? Please?"

"Both of you," Betty chimes in. "We'll be in the kitchen."

"What? Why-"

"I am not-" Their voices fade away.

"Guess someone's found her, huh?"

He nods. "I'm kinda surprised it took this long."

"Yeah. Me too." She smiles wryly. "So much for our Grand Romantic Weekend."

He laughs softly. "I'll admit, I was expecting our first time back together to be a little more, I don't know, tender and romantic, I guess."

"More of a rose-petals-and-scented-candles kind of thing?"

He wrinkles his nose. "Let's not go overboard here."

She laughs and kisses him. "Come on, before they decide to come back up. Do you want your sling?"

He shakes his head. "I'm good." They quickly dress, then head downstairs.

Heather grabs Veronica as soon as they enter the kitchen, wrapping her in a fierce hug and bursting into tears. Veronica freezes, then awkwardly hugs Heather back. "Heather? What is it? What's wrong?"

"H-H-H-"

"They found Heather Duke's body," Betty says softly. "At school."

He's sure Veronica has given everything away with her reaction, "What? Her b- Oh my god, did she...?" but neither Betty nor Heather seem to notice anything wrong.

"I don't know," Betty answers. "We heard it on the radio- they didn't say what happened, just that she'd been found."

Heather sniffles and swipes at her nose. "I- I just talked to her this morning. She- She said she missed hanging out with- with people who knew her, even if we were a couple of- of pillowcases." She pulls back from Veronica slightly. "She said something about needing to talk to you. She said it was really important."

Veronica's eyes widen. "I uh, I haven't talked to her since last week."

JD glances at the clock hanging on the wall. "The news should be coming on soon. Maybe they'll have more information."

All four of them squeeze on to the living room couch.. "We're really, really sorry about um, interrupting you guys," Heather says. "We kinda forgot about your mom and dad being gone this weekend."

"Don't worry about it," JD answers.

"Still," Betty adds, "you guys have been planning this for-"

"Guys, don't worry about it," Veronica repeats. "Please." She picks up the TV remote and presses the power button.

"-not insane, I'm CRAAZZYYY!! Crazy about low prices-"

"Ugh." Veronica stabs the mute button.

"Can I ask one thing?" Heather says. Veronica nods. "Why'd your parents want to go to Pittsburgh of all places?"

"Dad has some kind of work-type thing," Veronica answers. "Some conference or something. And Mom's old college roommate lives there, so that's why she went along. They're supposed to be back Sunday night." She looks over at Betty. "Which reminds me, after the news I should call your mom and check in. The last thing I need is her getting worried and coming over here."

Betty smirks. "Ray's still home on leave, so she'd probably send him over instead."

Veronica narrows her eyes at Betty. "Your brothers are not allowed to break my boyfriend." Betty has three older brothers, all of whom are in the military.

"Speaking of breaking..." Betty looks over at JD. "Shouldn't you be wearing your sling?"

JD shakes his head. "The doctor said I needed to start moving my arm some, so the scar doesn't heal up too tight." He shrugs. "I'll probably keep using it at school, at least-"

"Ooh!" Heather swats at Veronica, who unmutes the TV.

"-ory tonight: Tragedy strikes again at a local high school." The camera pulls back from the anchor, and a photograph of Heather Duke appears in the upper left corner of the screen. "In what school officials are calling a tragic accident, the body of Heather Duke, a pretty, popular junior at Westerburg High, was discovered at the bottom of a flight of stairs at the school late this afternoon, dead apparently of a broken neck. No official word yet on what may have caused the accident, but sources say the heel of her shoe had snapped, which may have contributed to her fall." The camera pulls back some more, revealing the co-anchor. "More on this story as it develops."

The co-anchor shakes her head. "Tragic. Just tragic. In other news-"

He can't help the thrill that goes through him, and it takes everything he has to keep his expression solemn. They've gotten away with murder. Again.


	8. Chapter 8

"Do you think her dad's here?" Heather asks as they walk up the steps to the church.

Veronica snorts. "The man barely remembers- remembered- to send her a card at Christmas and her fucking birthday. And even that was late half the time."

"Yeah," Heather responds as JD holds the door open for them. "But that's only because-" Veronica gives her a level look. Heather sighs. "Yeah, I never believed her either."

Martha looks up and hastily wipes at her eyes as they enter the vestibule. She's leaning on a pair of crutches. Two framed photographs are sitting on a small table in front of her. One is of Heather by herself, most likely her latest school portrait, and the other is a professionally posed portrait of Heather with her family.

"Martha, hey." Veronica places a sympathetic hand on Martha's shoulder. "How are you holding up?"

Martha shrugs. "Okay, I guess." She gestures toward the sanctuary. "I- I'd better go sit down. I'm still not supposed to stand for more than 15 minutes or so at a time." Veronica nods and lets her hand drop.

Martha glances at the photograph of Heather's family as she turns away. An expression of loathing flickers across her face before she drops her eyes and swings her crutches forward.

Heather is standing between Martha and the door to the sanctuary. She takes two quick steps, grasps the handle and pulls the door open.

Martha stops. "Thanks," she says, her surprise evident in her tone.

Heather shrugs. "Whatever. You coming or not? This door's heavy as fuck."

"Sorry." Martha swings her crutches forward again and enters the sanctuary. Heather lets the door swing shut behind Martha and examines her nails, deliberately not meeting their eyes.

JD and Veronica share an amused glance, then JD lets his gaze wander to the family portrait. Heather's father- her stepfather, he corrects himself- Mr. Walsh, is standing behind Heather's mother, one hand on her shoulder and the other on the back of her chair. She's holding a pair of twin toddler boys in her lap, one arm around each boy. Heather stands beside her mother's chair, hands clasped demurely in front of her. Her dark auburn hair stands out from the blonde of the other four.

JD looks up, his eyes meeting Veronica's. "How nice of them to include the nanny."

Her mouth twists in a wry smile. "Yeah." Her smile fades. "I guess even being Heather's punching bag was an improvement." Veronica shakes her head. "We'd better go, before all the good seats are taken."

Father Ripper gives the sermon or the eulogy or whatever- JD's not really sure what to call it. He also can't figure out the connection between Heather's death and the "MTV video games" the priest is thundering about, but then he'd never figured out the connection with Heather Chandler's suicide either. Or Ram and Kurt's, for that matter. At least there probably won't be any overwrought expressions of paternal love for "my dead clumsy stepdaughter" or anything like that. Mr. Walsh looks more annoyed than anything else, like he's waiting for a bus that's already ten minutes late. JD can't really see Mrs. Walsh, beyond a gloved hand that periodically raises a handkerchief to her face. Heather's two stepbrothers are nowhere in sight.

Eventually Father Ripper finishes and invites "those who wish to say a brief prayer for the soul of Heather Duke" to step forward. Heather and Veronica both rise. JD grasps Veronica's arm, surprising them both. She raises her eyebrows and he reluctantly lets go.

He watches as she kneels in front of Heather's casket. He knows what she would say- that Heather had been her friend once, that it would look suspicious if she didn't go up there- but there's something more. Something almost masochistic, like those monks and nuns back in the Middle Ages who used to whip themselves to drive the devil out. She has as much to lose as he does if everything comes out, maybe more. And yet, there's a part of her that seems to want to be punished, and that's what scares him.

Later, after the ceremony is over, JD heads for the restroom. He pushes the door open only to be confronted by Lance Palmer, who snarls, "Find a tree, asshole." Over Lance's shoulder he can see Pat Roberts glaring at a broken mirror. Blood drips from Pat's clenched fist. His eyes meet Lance's, and he remembers hearing that Pat and Heather Duke had been dating. He nods once, holding up his hands, and backs out. He can wait until he gets home.

"Hey. Do you mind catching a ride home with Betty?" Veronica asks. He turns to her, eyebrows raised. "Mrs. Walsh invited Heather and I back to their house to see if there's anything of Heather's we wanted. Like a memento or something."

"Does she know you guys weren't friends anymore?"

"She invited Martha too." Her mouth twitches in a brief, one-sided smile. "I don't think she knew about Courtney and the rest of that group though. She seemed surprised when Heather suggested they might want to come too."

He snorts. "I wouldn't have bothered."

"Oh, I would have," she responds. "After we'd finished."

They smirk at each other, then he reaches out and takes her hand. "Veronica, I- Maybe you should skip this whole-"

She snatches her hand away. "I have to."

"Damn it, Veronica, no you don't."

She glares at him. "Yes, I do."

"No, you-" He throws up his hand's. "You know what? Fine. Do whatever the hell you want." He blows out a breath. "Betty driving her mom's car?"

She shakes her head. "Her dad's. Blue Nova. Light blue." She bites her lip. "See you in the morning?"

He gives her a small smile. "Of course."

She smiles back, and they exchange a quick kiss before parting.

He locates Betty, and she drops him off at his house. His pop's not home- a zoning meeting he thinks, so he cooks a couple of frozen dinners and eats them both. He is a growing boy, after all. He feeds Friedrich, prepares for bed and reads for a bit before turning out the light.

He wakes when Veronica shoves him over on to his back and straddles his hips. She kisses him, her mouth harsh and hot on his, then presses the muzzle of her Beretta beneath his chin.


	9. Chapter 9

"Do you ever dream about them?" Veronica asks. "The people we killed?" Her tone is musing, as if she is no more than mildly curious about his answer. "I do." She frowns. "Well, no, not exactly," she continues. "I dream about Heather, sometimes. And Heather too, now. I saw her last night. Her neck's broken. But I've never seen Kurt or Ram. Not once." Her gaze sharpens. "Well?" She raps him on the jaw with the barrel of her pistol. "Do you?"

JD shakes his head, his eyes never leaving her face.

She traces the line of his jaw before nestling her pistol beneath his chin once more. "Heather was an accident," she continues. "And I feel bad about that, I do. But really, Kurt's death was his own fault. I mean, I was never interested in him. I was never going to be interested in him, even if you hadn't come along. I only went on that date as a favor to Heather."

As she speaks, he slowly, carefully eases his hand toward the gap between his bed and the wall.

"But of course his fucking ego couldn't handle that," she snarls.

He freezes.

"So instead it's he and Ram had a goddamn sword fight in my fucking mouth. And that fucker backed him up. So really, in a way, they both deserved it." She tilts her head. "Did you know?"

"Th-" He clears his throat. "That Kurt was interested in you?"

She nods.

"It was pretty obvious."

She smiles. "That's why they died, isn't it?" Her tone is light, almost playful. "None of that bullshit about 'nothing to offer but date rapes and AIDS jokes'. It's because you were jealous."

"That... might have been part of it," he admits, easing his hand into the gap. His fingertips brush the butt of his Colt.

"Heather saw your gun," she says flatly. "Under my jacket."

He freezes again.

"Or maybe just felt it. I remember her being behind me for a bit. Anyway, she told Heather about it later. Who told me, earlier tonight. And then," she continues, "once you were in the ambulance and the cops were taking my statement and they'd dismissed everyone else, she went back inside. Where you, you stupid fuck, left some sort of bloody handprint or something for her to notice."

The bit between starting up the stairs from the boiler room and encountering Veronica on the steps outside is one of the hazier parts of his memory, but he's pretty sure he staggered into the lockers lining the hallway a few times. It would be more surprising if he hadn't left any blood behind.

"But you know what she missed, babe?" She sits up, her gun still pointed directly at him. "Know what she fucking missed? The packs and packs of thermals beneath the bleachers, that's what she fucking missed." She laughs, throwing her head back. It's enough that he can slide his hand the final few inches to grasp his revolver.

Her laughter cuts off abruptly. "Remember that backup story we came up with? We never did decide if it was going to be you stopping me from committing suicide, or the other way around, did we?"

He shakes his head again. As far as he knows, the cops are still hassling Sherwood's homeless, trying to find their non-existent attacker.

"Well, guess what conclusion Heather came to?" She grins suddenly. "She figured it was another failed suicide attempt, like Martha's. Wasn't that just fucking brilliant of her?"

"Yeah." He needs a distraction, something to take her attention off of him long enough to let him pull his gun out. "Brilliant."

She tilts her head. "But it turns out, our little Heather did have a soul after all, stunted and twisted and half puked up though it might have been." Her lips curl in a sardonic smile. "Yeah. For once in her miserable life, Heather Duke tried to do something good." She leans forward until their noses are almost touching. "Too bad the person she tried to help is a fucking monster." She sits back up, gun aimed at his throat. "And yeah, I do think because I started this, I can end-"

He bucks underneath her, throwing her off balance, then flipping them so he's on top. He braces himself above her with one arm, aiming his revolver at her with his other hand. "Look, just drop the gun and-"

She smiles up at him. "Expecting me tonight?"

"Wh- What?"

Her legs snake around his hips. "You're naked."

"I sleep naked." He shakes his head. "That's not-"

"You might want to look on your nightstand."

He turns his head slightly, just enough to see the table by his bed without taking his eyes off of her. Six bullets are sitting there, lined up in a neat row.

"You're a pretty heavy sleeper, babe." She brings her gun up. "We're monsters, JD. We don't deserve to live. Either of us."

He closes his eyes and rocks back on his haunches, letting his gun drop to the mattress. "If- If that's what you really believe, if that's all that you think we are-"

"Isn't that enough?"

He opens his eyes to see her up against the headboard of his bed, knees drawn up to her chest and gun still grasped in her trembling hand.

"Isn't that e-fucking-nough?"

He swallows heavily. "You once said there was more to me than just- just some mad bomber out to destroy everything. That I was more than just... the monster inside me."

"I was an idiot," she says flatly. "The monster consumes everything, until that's all that you are. That I am."

He shakes his head. "No. Maybe it wants to. Maybe it's always been there. Maybe it always will be. But you are not the monster. You're more than that."

"I hate you," she says finally. "I hate that I want to believe you. But I think," she shifts her grip on her pistol, "I hate myself most of all." With one swift movement, she ejects the magazine, letting it drop to the bed. The gun itself follows moments later. She looks at him with a bleak smile. "Actually, you're not that heavy a sleeper. Check your gun."

He does, and discovers that it is still fully loaded. He looks at the bullets on his nightstand, then back to her. "You were bluffing?"

"Yeah."

Never breaking eye contact with her, he raises his gun, pops the cylinder, and lets the bullets cascade out into his free hand.

They stare at each other for a long moment, then her fingers go to the buttons of her blouse. "I need," she says hoarsely, "to not think. For a bit."


	10. Chapter 10

JD fumbles blindly, fingers scrabbling for the blessed button that will silence this damnable, hellish noise assaulting his ears. Success! He cracks open one eye and sees Veronica blinking sleepily back at him. "Mrng," he mutters.

"Mm," she grunts in reply. Suddenly, her eyes pop wide open. "Ohfuckwhattimeisit?"

He blinks, trying to process her words as she sits up.

Several knocks in quick succession rattle his bedroom door. "Coffee's on!" his father yells.

"I'm up!" he yells back. Veronica drops her head into her hands with a groan.

"And a bit of advice?" his father continues. "If you're going to sneak in, the driveway's really not the best place to park."

He stares incredulously at her, fully awake now. She lifts her head and calls out, "Sorry, Mr. Dean. Do you need me to move my car?"

"Eventually," his father answers. "But you're fine for now." A floorboard in the hall creaks as Bud walks away.

"I'm sorry, but in my defense I was pretty much focused on the whole murder-suicide thing last night," she responds to his raised eyebrows. "I'm feeling better now," she adds. He chooses to take her at her word.

"I'll make sure she gets breakfast and gets off to school," his father is saying as they enter the kitchen. He's sitting at the small table in the breakfast nook, a steaming mug of coffee and a glass half-filled with a white, chalky liquid in front of him. "Talk to you later, Bill." Bud hangs up and places the cordless phone on the table. He looks at both of them. "Protein shake?" he offers.

"We have cereal as well," JD assures her.

"I uh, I think I'll stick with that," Veronica answers. "Thank you though."

Bud shrugs and picks up his newspaper. "Suit yourself."

JD takes two mugs from the cabinet, filling them both with water from the sink before placing them in the microwave. "Leprechaun or chocolate vampire?"

"Leprechaun, please," Veronica answers.

The phone rings. "Yello," Bud answers. "Who's calling?" He holds the phone out to JD. "You know a Heather MacNamara?"

Veronica grimaces. "She's probably looking for me." She takes the phone from Bud. "Heather, hi. I-" She yanks the phone away from her ear.

"-the fuck?" Heather's voice is tinny and shrill through the phone's tiny speaker. "I wake up and find a note saying 'I'm sorry about everything' and-"

Veronica brings the phone back up to her ear. "Heather, Heather, calm down. I can explain-" She yanks the phone away again.

"-not fucking calm down and you damn well will fucking explain-"

Veronica holds the phone against her chest, muffling Heather's words. "I'm just going to, ah, take this in the living room, if you don't mind."

JD and Bud watch as Veronica walks away, then the microwave dings. JD pulls the mugs of boiling water out of the microwave and drops a teabag into each. Bud finishes his protein shake and stands. "Son, look, I-" Bud scratches at the back of his neck. "I know how sometimes, when you're with someone you um, your feelings can get kind of well, overwhelming and you ah, you don't really think about the possible consequences of-"

"We're um, we're being careful," JD says hastily. "No grandkids, son. Promise."

"Oh. Well, good." Bud nods. "Good. That's good. Pop." He takes his empty glass to the sink and rinses it out before placing it in the dishwasher. "She ah, she seems to be a... complicated girl."

JD pulls a pair of bowls out of the cabinet. "I guess." He carefully pours cereal into both bowls.

"Yeah, well..." Bud picks up the box of teabags. He blows out his breath in a heavy sigh. "Guess you come by it honestly, when all's said and done." He shakes his head and sets the box of teabags back down on the counter. "Never could taste a damn bit of difference myself." He picks up his coffee and newspaper, nodding politely to Veronica as he passes her in the doorway.

Veronica sets the phone down on the counter and accepts the mug of tea JD hands her. "Everything good with Heather?" he asks.

"Not really, but she's not calling out the National Guard anymore." She gestures with her mug in the direction his father has gone. "What was that about?"

JD takes a sip of his tea, wincing at the heat. "This was Mom's favorite. She always swore it tasted better than any other brand."

"Oh." Veronica takes a cautious sip. "It is good."

"Spoons are in the top drawer."

Veronica gets spoons for both of them and they go sit at the table, JD grabbing the carton of milk from the refrigerator on the way. "How pissed are your parents going to-"

"Pretty pissed."

They start eating their cereal, then Veronica says, "She had a box. In her closet. Pictures, a ribbon they'd won in the three-legged race, a couple other things." She shrugs. "We let Martha take it, of course." She falls silent, and they continue eating. "I used to have a box in my closet too," she confesses to her empty bowl. "Things I... didn't want to be reminded about, but couldn't just throw out either." She looks up at him. "We'd uh, we'd better get going."


	11. Chapter 11

"I mean, it's kind of hard to explain why, exactly," JD says slowly. They're in Veronica's car, parked around the corner from Betty's house. He and Veronica are turned around in the front seat, facing Heather and Betty in the back. "Fighting and breaking up with Veronica was part of it, but so is my pop and moving all the time and getting a D on my physics test and Marvin Gaye's selling fucking raisins now and- and-" JD throws up his hands, "and just fucking everything."

"Who's Marvin Gaye?" Heather asks. Betty and Veronica both glare at her. "Sorry."

"Anyway," JD continues, "I'd started bringing my gun to school again, not that anyone noticed, and well..." he shrugs.

"I noticed," Veronica says. "I saw JD going into the boiler room and I just- Something told me to follow him. So I go in and he's sitting there and he brings the gun to his head and I- I had to stop him."

"So she tackles me. And I wasn't- I hadn't actually decided to do anything."

"You looked pretty damn decided to me. And anyway, you threw me into the wall."

"I didn't realize who you were. And besides, you bounced right back and tackled me even harder the second time."

"And then- long story short- the gun goes off, JD gets shot, and I get knocked out."

"She hit her head," JD explains. "So anyway, she's lying there unconscious or maybe dead, and I'm bleeding like- like I don't know what. Maybe I was in shock or something. I just knew I had to get help- well, that and math was going to be a lot harder now- but there wasn't anyone around." He shakes his head. "I guess I thought the school was closed or something. Didn't even think about the pep rally."

"So I wake up," Veronica continues, "and JD's going up the stairs and out the door and all I could think is 'I have to stop him'. I don't remember picking up the gun, but I must have." She shakes her head. "The doctor said I had a concussion, afterwards."

"The last thing I remember is wondering why there were so many cars in the parking lot, and then turning around and seeing Veronica on the steps."

"You collapsed." Veronica shrugs. "I guess that's when the pep rally let out, because the next thing I remember I'm holding you and everyone's surrounding us and I'm screaming for them to call an ambulance and- and-" She shakes her head again.

"So... where did the homeless guy come from?" Heather asks.

Betty rolls her eyes. "There is no homeless guy, Heather. There never was."

Veronica bites her lip. "I just- you guys know how everyone was making even more fun of Martha after her suicide attempt and, I don't know, I guess I didn't want that to happen to JD so I said we'd been attacked." Her mouth twitches in a one-sided smile. "Anyway, concussion, remember? I wasn't thinking too clearly by that point. By the time I was, the whole thing had blown up into this big manhunt and everything and I just- I didn't know how to stop it."

"Okay," Betty says slowly, "but that still doesn't explain why Heather called me at the crack of fucking dawn frantic because she thought you'd left to go kill yourself." Heather nods emphatically in agreement.

"Guys, I'm not suicidal, I swear."

Betty and Heather look levelly back at her, doubt plain on both their faces.

Veronica looks over at JD, who shrugs. "Maybe you should tell them."

Veronica sighs. "Yeah." She pulls out the car's cigarette lighter, holding it up so the two in the back can see. "Take a lit one of these, shove it into your palm and-" She holds her left hand up, palm out. Heather gasps, her hand going to her mouth. Betty's eyes go wide behind her glasses. Veronica tosses the lighter to JD and shoves her sleeve up. "This, and this, are from a cigarette. There's more, but you get the idea."

"Why?" Betty breathes. "Por que demonios- Why the hell would you do something like that?"

Veronica lets her sleeve fall back to cover her arm. "Sometimes things just get... overwhelming." She feels JD take her hand in his. "It's like your brain becomes this- this giant hamster wheel, circling the drain. And the more you try to break the cycle, the faster it spins."

"Until the only solution is to, basically, short-circuit your brain with overwhelming pain." Betty's and Heather's eyes both go to JD, who nods. "Actually attempting suicide is a bit extreme but, yeah, I've got a few scars of my own." He shrugs. "Sometimes it's the only way to feel anything at all."

"Most of the time, writing about, whatever, is enough to- to stop things before they get that far," Veronica adds. "At least for me."

"I jam out on my sax."

"I'm sorry for scaring you Heather, really. You were already asleep and I didn't want to wake you and it's not like you don't have a shit-ton of problems already with your parent and-"

"You- You-" Heather reaches over the back of the seat and grabs Veronica in a fierce hug.

"Heather... can't... breathe," Veronica squeaks.

"You idiot!" Heather releases Veronica. "Fuck my parents; they're both cheating assholes. They're only divorcing because Mom's a greedy bitch and Dad was dumb enough to get caught." She grasps Veronica's shoulders with both hands. "Wake me the fuck up. I've lost too many friends already." She looks over at JD. "That goes for you too. I'd miss you."

JD wonders if his face bears the same look of mingled guilt and surprise as Veronica's. "Um..." He manages to summon a hesitant smile. "Thanks."

"Or even if you want to- to hurt yourself again," Betty adds. "Call one of us or- or something."

"You guys are better friends than we deserve," Veronica says.

"Stop that," Heather admonishes. She throws one arm around Veronica and the other around Betty, who looks faintly alarmed. "You too, Jesse James. Group hug." JD rolls his eyes but complies.

Veronica is the first to pull away. "We'd better get going before we're late."

"Before we do, please tell me you guys are in like therapy or something," Heather says.

JD's mouth quirks in a wry smile. "My pop's basically a construction worker. I'm sure you can guess his opinion of that kind of thing. Veronica is, though. Kind of."

Veronica rolls her eyes. "Guy's an idiot though. I explained about the whole noose thing, but-"

"What?" Heather screeches. "What noose thing?"

JD facepalms. "You probably shouldn't have mentioned that part."

"It was a total misunderstanding," Veronica explains hastily. "I wasn't- It was just an experiment, I swear."

"An experiment," Betty repeats, looking back and forth between Veronica and JD. "With a noose." She looks heavenwards. "Santa Madre de Dios, por favor mantén seguros a estos dos idiotas. De ellos mismos especialmente."

Heather nods. "Totally. And like, amen and stuff."

Veronica narrows her eyes at Betty. "You sound like your mom."

Betty narrows her eyes back at Veronica. "I'm beginning to think she had a point. About you at least."

"Hey! Not everything we got in trouble for was my fault."

"Just most of it." Betty settles back in her seat. "Look, this- this whole wanting to hurt yourself thing. Is that why um, is that why, y'know, the ah, the kinky sex?"

"What?" Veronica laughs. "I think you've re-read that Sleeping Beauty book a few too many times."

Betty blushes, her cheeks and the tips of her ears turning bright red. "Th-Th- That's not-"

"God, Veronica, it's not like it's a big surprise or anything," Heather says. "I mean, you like those weird bands they only show on _120 Minutes_ and then there's the whole monocle thing and-"

"I have a slight astigmatism!"

"That only comes up when you're writing in your diary?" Heather counters. "Plus you keep switching eyes." Veronica scowls in response. "And JD's well," Heather gestures in his direction, "JD."

JD frowns, then shakes his head. This isn't the first time he's gotten mentally lost trying to follow Heather.

"Or is there another reason you've been wearing high-necked blouses for the past week?" Betty asks. "And does JD's back still look like he went ten rounds with a mountain lion?" She sighs. "Ronnie, look. As fun as it is to read about that kind of stuff, I really don't see it working in real life. And even without the whole hurting yourselves thing, I'd be scared about you guys getting seriously hurt. Or worse. Now I'm really scared." Heather nods in agreement.

Veronica looks over at JD, who looks back at her with a wry smile and a shrug. She turns to Heather and Betty. "I'm not going to promise you guys we'll be okay. But I can promise you we're working on it, and we're trying to get better. Neither one of us wants anyone else to die."

Betty and Heather exchange glances, then Heather gives a reluctant nod. "All right, fine," Betty says. "But only if you promise to call one of us if things get 'overwhelming' again."

Veronica nods. "Deal."

Betty's eyes shift to JD. "That goes for you too."

JD blinks. "Ah, deal."

"From now on though, me and JD's sex life is nobody else's business," Veronica adds with a stern glare. "Got it?"

Betty nods. "Got it." Heather nods as well.

"Good." Veronica turns around. "Now we really are going to be late." She puts the car into gear and pulls away from the curb.

Betty and Heather turn to discussing an upcoming party- apparently Keith's (JD isn't entirely sure who that is) parents are going out of town. Heather won't be able to go- she has to go out of town for some sort of thing for the upcoming cheerleading competition in June- but she encourages Betty to attend. "Hey, why don't you guys go with?" Heather suggests.

JD rolls his eyes, but Veronica replies "Yeah, sure," before he can say anything. She's chewing on her bottom lip as she drives, and her fingers are moving on the steering wheel as if she's trying to count something. His eyes flick to Heather and Betty, but they don't seem to have noticed anything unusual.

Veronica pulls into the school parking lot and finds an empty space. "You guys go on; we'll follow in a minute or so." Betty and Heather both look curiously at her, but they gather their books and go inside the school.

JD grins. "I think they bought it. Now we just need to convince your parents that-"

Veronica turns and smacks him. "You asshole!" she screams, punctuating her words with several more blows. "You goddamn fucking asshole!"

"What the- Veron- Jesus- Veronica-" JD manages to grab her wrist. "What the fuck?"

Veronica wrenches her arm loose. "I'm late."

"Yeah, no shit, we both are," he snaps. "But what the fuck does-"

"No," she says evenly. "I mean: I'm late."

"You're late," he says slowly. "As in... late."

She nods.

He licks suddenly dry lips. "H-How late?"

"I don't know- maybe a week, maybe a month-"

"A month?" he shrieks. "And you're just now-"

"I've been busy!" she snaps back. "It's not like I have a fucking clock in there."

"But- Jesus- I mean-"

"I've skipped before," she continues quietly, "but not since like, junior high."

"Oh."

"But I mean like, stress can like, throw things out of whack too. And it's not like things haven't been super stressful lately. So it's probably nothing."

"Nothing," he repeats. "Right."

"Yeah." They both fall silent.

"If-" He swallows, clears his throat. "If it is... something, I can- I can probably get a job with my Pop, or-"

A knock sounds at her window- it's Miss Fleming. Veronica groans and slumps against the steering wheel. JD reaches across her and lowers the window.

Miss Fleming leans down, the concern on her face belied by the eagerness in her eyes. "JD. Veronica. Is everything-"

JD narrows his eyes. "We'll take the detentions, Miss Phlegm. Ing."

Miss Fleming straightens, an affronted look on her face. Veronica turns her head and gives him a dazzling smile.


	12. Chapter 12

"And don't do anything I wouldn't do." Veronica laughs at the response that comes through the phone pressed against her ear. "Fuck you too, bi- ah!" She jackknifes in on herself, then lets out a shaky breath and slowly uncurls. "I'm fine," she says into the receiver. "Just another cramp. Betty, no. I'll be fine. JD's here. Go, have fun. You can tell us all about it in the morning. Yes, I'm sure. Bye, Betty." She gives the handset to JD as she snuggles into his chest, shifting position again so she can see the TV.

JD stretches his arm out and places the handset back in its cradle before putting his arms around Veronica once more. He slips his hand beneath her shirt, letting it rest on her bare stomach. "Is it always this bad?"

Veronica shakes her head. "Not even close. Usually there's not even that much blood, and I just feel kinda bleah for a couple days." She grimaces. "I think I've bled more this time than all the rest combined." She lifts her head to see his face as he remains silent. She stretches her neck to kiss, then nip at his jaw. "Stop it," she orders. "I'd rather deal with this than any of the alternatives."

JD sighs and kisses her back. "I know. I just hate seeing you like this.

She smiles and kisses him again before snuggling into his chest and turning her attention back to the TV. "Betelgeuse."

"I'm sorry, but your answer must be phrased in the form of a quest- ow! Hey, I don't make the rules."

"Doesn't apply when you're playing along at home."

JD shakes his head. "Sacrilege. Who is Will Scarlett?" He smirks down at her. "But if you need a handicap, then I guess I could-"

"Ha!" She narrows her eyes at him. "Who is Jo March?" She leans forward to spread some pâté on a cracker.

"Make me one too." 

Veronica hands him the one she just made and makes herself another.

"Who is Lucky Luciano?" JD takes a bite of his cracker. "I always thought pâté was just goose liver."

Veronica shakes her head. "You can make pâté from just about any kind of meat. It's just that pâté de foie gras is the one everyone's heard of. What is _The Age of Innocence_?" She wrinkles her nose. "I've had it. Doesn't live up to the hype."

"This stuff is good though." JD takes a second bite, finishing off his cracker. "What is _The Name of the Rose_? What is it?"

"Pâté de tête de sanglier," Veronica answers, finishing her own cracker. "It's pork, basically."

"Basically? On second thought, never mind. Pork is good."

"Chicken. Who is Mina Mur- fuck!" She presses JD's hand into her stomach. "I am so ready for this shit to be over."

"Is this helping at all?"

"Some," Veronica answers. "They were worse, earlier. Before you got here." She tilts her head to look up at him. "So what made your father...?"

JD grimaces. "He told me this story about some guy in his squad or platoon or whatever in Vietnam- I couldn't really follow all of it. But the upshot was the guy flipped out and shot a couple people before killing himself, and maybe that wouldn't have happened if he'd gotten some help. So..." JD shrugs.

"Well, the trick is to figure out what the doctor wants to hear," Veronica says, "and then let him draw it out of you. Don't make it too easy though, or he'll get suspicious."

"Mm," JD grunts in acknowledgement. "Your parents aren't there when you talk with the doctor, are they?"

Veronica sits up. "Oh God, no. Is your father-"

JD shakes his head. "Not yet anyway. But he can get kind of... obsessive about things. And I'm starting to think I might be his next project."

"Great." Veronica lies back down, pillowing her head on his chest. The show's end credits are rolling, so she reaches out and picks up the remote. "Do we want to watch the news or try to find something else?"

"How much longer, do you think?"

"Not much, probably."

"Let's just watch the news, then."

Veronica shrugs and tosses the remote back onto the coffee table.

"Further developments in the early morning raids on multiple local police stations by officers of the Ohio State Highway Patrol, including the townships of Bayport, River Heights and Sherwood," the anchor announces. "According to a spokesman for the Highway Patrol, officers with these and other local police forces in Indiana, Kentucky and West Virginia have been charged with running a multi-state narcotics smuggling and distribution ring. The Attorney General's Office will be reviewing current and former cases of the arrested officers for possible further investigation. More on this story as-"

"Dinner!"

They stare at each other, wide-eyed.

"Veronica! Jason! Dinner!"

"Coming!" Veronica yells back. "And it's JD, Mom." She gets up from the couch and turns the TV off. "That's probably like, hundreds of cases, right?"

JD nods as he stands. "And it's probably only the drug cases they'll be looking closely at."

"Right." She takes his hand, and they head for the dining room.

It had taken considerable pleading from both JD and Veronica, including some thinly veiled threats of further self-harm or possibly even another suicide or two, before their parents, and Veronica's doctor, had decided that their best course of action would be to simply let the infatuation between the two teenagers run its course. Veronica withdraws her hand from JD's, and they take their seats on opposite sides of the table.

"Everything looks delicious, Mrs. Sawyer," JD says. "What is...?" He gestures toward his plate.

"Coq au vin with potatoes and haricots verts."

"Chicken cooked in wine, and green beans," Veronica translates, and they begin eating.

Mrs. Sawyer says, "Veronica, you have an appointment with Dr. Kahun tomorrow after-"

"Mom!"

JD looks curiously at a blushing Veronica, who sighs and explains, "My gynecologist." She glares at her mother. "And really, I'm fine. I just-"

"We know about everything, Veronica," Mr. Sawyer interrupts.

JD and Veronica both freeze. Mr. Sawyer smiles sadly at his daughter. "Kitten, there's really only one reason for a couple to be as happy as you two are that it's 'that time of the month'."

JD lets out a shaky breath as Veronica smiles tentatively at her father. "JD did offer to marry me."

Mr. Sawyer gives JD a sidelong glance. "Did he now?" Veronica's father had been particularly difficult to convince, and it was only due to the (perceived) risk to her life and health that he was willing to tolerate JD's presence in his daughter's life.

"Bill..." Mrs. Sawyer says warningly. Mr. Sawyer holds up his hands in surrender and resumes eating.

"Your mom's right," JD says, breaking the silence. "You said it yourself, this isn't normal. Maybe you should um, get things ah, checked out."

Veronica rolls her eyes. "Fine, I'll go."

Mrs. Sawyer gives her daughter a reproving look. "So, Jason, I understand your mother was a teacher?"

JD swallows and nods. "Yes ma'am. She taught music to kids in elementary school."

"How nice. And Veronica says you have some musical talent of your own?"

"I like to think so," JD answers.

"He does," Veronica interjects.

"Enough to make a living at it?" Mr. Sawyer demands.

"Probably not," JD admits.

"More potatoes?" Mrs. Sawyer offers.

Later, after everyone has finished, Mrs. Sawyer gives her husband a pointed look. Mr. Sawyer looks down at his plate, then draws in a breath and lifts his head. "Having him here today has helped you, hasn't it?"

Veronica nods.

"I'm still not certain how wise this is but- if his father agrees- JD can stay for the night." He holds up a warning finger as Veronica pushes her chair back and stands. "Just for tonight." Veronica throws her arms around her father, who lets out a heavy sigh. "Will someone tell me why I'm doing this?"

"Because you're an idiot," Veronica murmurs, kissing her father's cheek. "Thank you."

"Don't make us regret this, kiddo."


	13. Chapter 13

He knows where he is instantly. And when. As if he could ever forget this place, or that day. There is nothing he can do that will change what is going to happen (what has happened), but still he tries. Tries to get himself to look up earlier, to notice his mother in that window those few precious seconds sooner. But again, he's screaming (had screamed) for his father, and seeing (had seen) Bud's irritated glare transform into horror even as the muffled thump of the trigger bomb sounds (had sounded). He can see the knowledge in his mother's eyes as she lifts (had lifted) her hand-

JD jolts awake.

Beside him Veronica stirs, blinks sleepily. "Hm?"

"S'fine," he manages to mumble. "G'back sleep."

"M'kay." Her eyes close. "L've 'ou."

"Love you too," he responds, but she's already relaxing back into sleep.

He can't sleep, not yet anyway. This isn't the first time he's had this nightmare.

There are times he wishes he could just accept his mother's death was simply “a tragic accident, the result of miscommunication and human error”. But he can't. He knows, incontrovertibly knows, that she deliberately chose to walk into that building. What he can't figure out is why. Maybe if he knew that, he could figure out if there was something he should have done differently.

In some ways it's tempting to just blame his father for everything, say his treatment of her is what drove his mother to suicide, but it's not that simple. Bud Dean may be a self-absorbed, workaholic asshole, and was probably as neglectful a husband as he is a father, but in his own way, he does care.

He doesn't know the details- just another thing about her that his father refuses to talk about- but even as a kid he knew his mother was not well. Well people don't need to take pills to "keep them from worrying so much" and they don't lose a succession of jobs because they're "too tired to get up today". One of the few times he can remember his father yelling at his mother is from when he was seven and Bud came home early to find JD fixing his own dinner on the stove. Come to think of it, she had started taking her pills shortly after that.

Not for the first time, he wonders: If the investigators had known about any of that, would they have come to a different conclusion about her death?

Veronica shifts beside him, turning over in her sleep, and his thoughts shift from the past to the present. By any logical thinking, she should have left him to die and gone on with her life. Heather Duke would still be alive, and the forgeries would be the only thing linking Veronica with the murders. Even then, she could probably get away with claiming he'd forced her. Teenage girls are victims after all, not villains.

He hadn't known how to answer the question she'd asked as she forged Heather's suicide note, not then. Somehow, telling her "Yeah, a couple times. They're folded up in a copy of _Les Fleurs du mal_." had seemed too raw a truth for that early in their relationship. (Well okay, a translation. His French is about as good as her German.) Now though, he wonders if he even needs them at all. He yawns. Maybe he'll just tear them up and throw them in the trash. He yawns again, and lets his eyes drift shut. He will definitely do that. Tomorr-

Veronica's phone rings, jerking sleep away.

Veronica groans and reaches over him for the phone. "Damnit Heath-" She freezes, her eyes going wide.

The phone rings again.

She blinks and shakes her head, then picks up the receiver and brings it to her ear. "H- Hello?" She blinks again. "What?" She sits up, causing him to grunt as she pushes off his chest. "I mean yes. Yes, I'll accept the charges."

The sudden alarm in her voice makes him sit up as well.

"Betty? Hello? Betty? What-" She falls silent, listening. "Where are you?" She clambers out of bed, phone still pressed against her ear, causing JD to have to duck beneath the phone cord as it passes over him. "I know it. Just- Just stay there. We'll come get you."

JD swings his legs out of bed. "What's-"

Veronica shakes her head as she hangs up. "I don't- I'm not- I'll explain later. Come on."

The sound of squealing tires pierces the quiet Ohio night as Veronica peels away from the curb. JD glances over at her and tightens his grip on the door handle.

The little service station at the crossroads outside of town is closed for the night. A single cobrahead streetlight illuminates the intersection, and the only other light comes from the flickering flourescent bulb in the phone booth by the side of the road. Veronica is out of the car almost before it stops moving, dashng to kneel beside the figure slumped in the bottom of the booth.

JD comes around from the far side of the car and halts in his tracks.

She's wearing a single boot.

Her glasses are missing.

She's clutching the torn halves of her dress together with one hand.

"Can I go back to being just another dweebette now, Ronnie? Please?"


	14. Chapter 14

JD eyes the missing boot, which had been left lying in the middle of their usual table. "Still think these assholes were worth saving?"

Veronica slams her tray down. "Shut. Up." She snatches the boot up and glares around the caf.

The story of what had happened at the party is all over the school. Or rather, a story is. No one has said anything to him directly, but JD's overheard some things before people realized he was there, things like: "I always knew she was a slut" and "What a whore" and "I heard she did every guy there". On the whole, it's probably a good thing his father has tightened the security on the explosives shack.

"Thought you were sitting with La Contessa now, tramp."

Veronica shoves the boot into JD's hands and stalks over to the dweebettes. She braces one hand on the table and looms over the girl in the round black glasses. "It's pronounced La Condesa."

The girl huffs, "Whatever," but her eyes slide away, avoiding Veronica's glare.

"Whatever," Veronica echoes mockingly, before straightening and turning away. "Come on, Betty. Before any of their loserdom rubs off on us."

Movement in his peripheral vision catches JD's attention and he turns to see Heather slipping quietly into her seat. He silently holds the boot out to her. After a moment, she takes the boot and tucks it beside her bookbag on the floor.

"I- I didn't think you knew about that," Betty says as she takes her seat. She's gone back to wearing baggy, unfashionable clothes and those oversized glasses that are perpetually sliding down her nose.

"Actually, I was kind of flattered," Veronca answers. "The Countess? Made me sound all like exotic and stuff."

Betty's mouth twists wryly. "That wasn't exactly wh-"

"Betty." Courtney has paused by their table, the coterie of followers she seems to have inherited from Heather Duke in a loose arc behnd her. "And here I was, thinking you really were the cocktease everyone said you were"

Betty looks down, seeming to shrink in on herself even more.

"That's enough, Courtney," Veronica says evenly.

"Guess you proved us all wrong," Courtney continues. The girls behind her are openly smirking and tittering. "Multiple-"

Veronica shoots to her feet and backhands Courtney with enough force to send her staggering. "I said: That's enough!"

A ripple of shocked silence spreads through the caf, followed by excited chatter. "Holy Shit!" "Did you see that?" "Girlfight!" "What happened?" "Fight! Fight!" "Bet she's got a gun too."

That last just as Miss Fleming pushes through the crowd of students, and she visibly hesitates, her eyes going to JD. He holds up empty hands and slowly sinks back into his seat, shooting Veronica an apologetic glance. Fleming turns back to Veronica and Courtney, demanding, "What is going on here?"

"We were just walking by, and she just punched Courtney for no reason," a tall brunette in a pink sweater says quickly. The other girls nod and chorus agreement with this version of events. Courtney ostentatiously blinks back tears as she holds one hand to her cheek.

Veronica narrows her eyes. "Oh, I had-"

"That's quite enough, Veronica," Fleming says sharply. "Can one of you girls make sure Courtney gets to the nurse?" The brunette in the pink sweater nods. "I'll be by to check on you in a bit." Fleming turns back to Veronica. "Get your things and come with me."

Veronica glowers, but silently gathers up her belongings. She slides her car keys across the table to JD, then turns to leave, escorted by Fleming.

"You haven't changed a bit since fourth grade, have you?" Courtney throws at Veronica's back.

Without turning around or even pausing, Veronica tosses over her shoulder, "You deserved it then, too."

JD picks up the keys and puts them in his pocket, then looks over at the other two.

Betty's head is down, her shoulders are hunched up almost to her ears, and he thinks it might take only one more cruel remark to make her curl up into a permanent fetal position.

Heather's eyes are darting from him to Betty to the door Veronica left through and back to him, and she is actually wringing her hands, which is something he thought only characters in 19th Century novels did. He remembers Veronica telling him once that Heather had been friends with Heather Chandler the longest of any of them, since kindergarten, and he wonders if she's ever been on this side of things before.

JD picks up his spork and stabs a fish stick. Maybe he'll ask his father a couple questions about the updated security on the explosives shack. Just for curiosity's sake.


	15. Chapter 15

JD drops his books on his desk with a groan. "Friedrich ol' buddy, be glad you're not a human being, because human beings are fucking shitholes." He frowns; the hamster hadn't reacted, either to his voice or to the sound of the books hitting the desktop. He peers closely at the still form. "Well, fuck."

He goes over to the pile of clean laundry sitting on top of his dresser. (Veronica had shaken her head and muttered something about "boys being slobs" when she saw it, which he thought was a little unfair. He's always careful to make sure the clean clothes pile on the dresser stays separate from the dirty clothes pile on the floor.) He rummages through the pile until he finds one of his older undershirts. It has a couple holes, but no stains or anything, and the holes are small.

He lays the undershirt out on his desk, then opens the cage and lifts Friedrich out, setting the hamster in the middle of the shirt and then folding it around him. He carries the bundle outside, looking around for a moment before deciding on a large bush that's just starting to blossom with pretty purple and blue flowers. His mother would probably have known the name of it.

He sets the bundle down and fetches a shovel from the garage. Once he's satisfied the hole is deep enough, he picks up Friedrich's shrouded form and lowers it into the hole. "Well... ashes to ashes and dust to dust and all the rest of it, pal." He quickly fills the hole back in and returns the shovel to the garage.

He's washing his hands when the phone rings. He briefly considers just letting the answering machine get it, but Veronica is supposed to call, so he dries his hands on his pants and snatches up the receiver. "Yello."

"Um, JD?" Heather says. "Is- Is Veronica there? Because she's not answering her phone and her parents aren't either and I've tried calling Betty but she's not answering either and-"

JD rolls his eyes. "Veronica had a doctor's appointment this afternoon, some sort of check up or something. Nothing serious. And Betty, I don't know, maybe-"

"I- I can't find my medicine," Heather interrupts.

"Your... sleeping pills."

"They're for like, anxiety and stuff," Heather corrects. "But yeah. I know I had them in the car."

"You sure you didn't just leave them?"

"They were in my purse."

"Fuck." JD runs a hand through his hair. "You don't have your license yet, do you? All right, Betty's house isn't that far, it'll take me like ten minutes to get there, maybe fifteen, and I'll- I'll have her call you or something."

"Oh, thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"Yeah, sure. It's probably nothing; I'll have her call you when I get there." JD hangs up and goes out to the garage.

It takes a few tries before his bike starts- he hasn't ridden since before Veronica stopped him from blowing up the school- and he makes a mental note to strongly suggest that when Veronica gets her bike she get one with an electric starter.

Traffic is light, and it takes him less than ten minutes to get to Betty's house. He knocks on the front door and, after receiving no answer, goes arond to the side door by the driveway.

There's a note in Betty's handwriting taped to the door. He can't read it, but _Mamá, no entra_ and _(something) la policía_ are pretty easy to figure out. He pounds on the door, yelling, "Betty! God damn it, Betty, open the fucking door!"

There's no answer, and he looks frantically around. The door has a large pane of frosted glass set into the upper half, and the steps up to the door are lined with potted plants. He picks one up and hurls it through the glass, then reaches through and unlocks the door.

Betty's room is the third door he tries, and she's lying on the bed, her eyes closed. The empty bottle of Heather's medicine is sitting on the nightstand. "Fuck," JD breathes. He swallows, then presses two fingers against Betty's neck, just below the hinge of her jaw.

For a long moment there's nothing, then he can feel a pulse, faint and slow beneath his fingertips.

JD sags in relief. He looks around but, unlike Veronica and Heather, Betty's parents hadn't installed a second phone line for their teenage daughter. "I'll- Don't- Just- Just don't."

He turns and dashes down the stairs. He's pretty sure he saw a phone in the kitchen and-

He tries to throw himself backwards, but pain blossoms from his temple and knocks him to the ground.

"¿Quién coño eres?" the woman brandishing the cast-iron frying pan demands. "Beti? Beti, respóndeme!" She glares at JD. "I said: Who the fuck-"

"Ambulance!" he manages to gasp out. "Betty. Ambulance. Need-"

She drops the frying pan and dashes up the stairs. JD spares a wince for the damage to the hardwood floor as he scrambles to his feet and races for the kitchen. There's a phone on the counter in front of a large bay window. He grabs the receiver and fuck! Is Sherwood on the 911 system yet? He can't remember.

A scream sounds from upstairs, and he dials.

"911 emergency. Police, fire or ambulance?"

"Ambulance. She took some pills and-"

"What is your address, sir?"

"Uhh... shit!" JD looks around frantically. "Can't you like, trace this-"

He turns to see an officer in the dark blue of the Sherwood police coming through the door, his weapon drawn, followed by a second officer in the grey of the Highway Patrol. JD lowers the receiver, the late-afternoon sun silhouetting him against the window. "Oh, thank-"

"Gun!" the Sherwood officer screams, and fires his weapon.


	16. Chapter 16

"He missed, though. And the state guy took his gun away after that."

"I. Don't. Care," Veronica responds, but she eases up enough that she's no longer threatening to re-crack JD's healing ribs. “I'm the only one who gets to shoot you; not some stupid asshole wannabe Barney fucking Fife."

That surprises a laugh out of him, and a reproving "Veronica!" from Mrs. Sawyer. "Watch your language, young lady."

He sobers quickly. "How is she? The paramedic who treated me said she'd be okay but..."

Heather hugs him as well. "The nurse said they're giving her charcoal."

"It's some kind of special medical charcoal," Veronica explains. "It like, absorbs the poison and sh-stuff." Her eyes turn to the set of double doors at the far end of the waiting room. "Her parents are in there with her."

"How's your head?" Mrs. Sawyer lifts her hand, then hesitates and lets it drop. "That looks like you'll have quite the bruise."

"Hurts a bit," JD admits, "but the paramedic said he didn't think I had a concussion or anything like that. He gave my dad a list of things to watch out for though, just in case."

"Oh, is your father here?"

"No, he had to head back to work."

Mrs. Sawyer nods. "Why don't you kids sit back down while I see if there's any news."

The three teenagers sit in the row of hard plastic chairs along one wall. Veronica snuggles into JD's side as her mother heads for the nurses' station.

"So what's the sentence?"

Veronica grimaces. "Two days house arrest and a 1500 word essay on 'How Violence Is Not the Answer'."

"Fleming?"

"Yup."

JD smirks. "Still got ya beat."

Veronica rolls her eyes. "Yeah, if you wanna count five days of quote 'the shittiest jobs my pop could find' unquote as winning."

JD grimaces. "Literally with that damned septic tank."

Heather wrinkles her nose. "Do I even want to know?"

"Not really," Veronica answers. "Hey, are you going to need a ride back?"

JD shakes his head. "Rode my bike."

Heather raises her hand. "If um, if you're suspended, and Betty's here, does that mean um, having to ride on JD's motorcycle? For like, getting to school and stuff?"

Veronica raises her eyebrows at JD, who shrugs. "Sure, why not."

"Oh. Okay." Heather bites her lip."Umm... do you like, have a helmet I can borrow?"

JD and Veronica look at each other, then at Heather. "Helmet?" they chorus.

Heather's eyes go wide. "But- But- Isn't that like, dangerous and-"

Veronica smirks. "That's the fun part."

JD shakes his head. "Not really. Not if you know what you're doing. And yeah, I've got a helmet you can use."

An older man steps through the doors at the far end of the waiting room. Heather and Veronica both stand. Mrs. Sawyer steps away from the nurses' desk. "Josiah..."

"She- The doctors- She's going to be all right."

"Oh thank God," Mrs. Sawyer breathes, pressing a hand to her heart. Veronica grins, Heather squeals, bouncing up on her toes and clapping her hands together, and JD finds himself standing as well, a broad smile on his face.

"Is there anything you need?" Mrs. Sawyer asks. "Anything we can get for you?"

The man shakes his head. "No. Thank you, Penny, but no. Just-" He sighs, then looks at JD. "Are- Are you the one who..."

JD nods.

Mr. Finn steps forward and grabs JD in a hug. "Thank you. Thank you for my little girl."

JD squirms. "Umm... you're welcome?"

Mr. Finn releases JD and steps back, his eyes bright with unshed tears. "I just wish we knew why she would- would-"

JD, Veronica and Heather exchange glances, and Heather starts wringing her hands. Mrs. Sawyer's eyes narrow thoughtfully. "Can we- May we see her?" Veronica asks.

Mr. Finn shakes his head again. "She's pretty worn out. The doctor wants her to get a good night's sleep first." He gives them a wan smile, “Thank you, all of you, for being here,” then turns and exits back through the double doors.

"Come on girls, there's nothing more we can do here," Mrs. Sawyer says briskly, gathering up her coat and leading them out of the hospital. "Jason-"

He shakes his head. "I'm good."

"Mom? I- I need to tell JD about..." Veronica gestures toward her stomach.

Mrs. Sawyer blinks. "Oh. Yes well, don't take too long; you're still in trouble for what happened in school today. We'll be in the car. Come along, Heather."

Mrs. Sawyer and Heather depart, leaving JD and Veronica alone on the sidewalk in front of the hospital, except for a trio of smokers by the empty ambulance bay.

They stare at each other, until JD breaks the silence. "Veronica?"

She breathes out a soft, humorless laugh. "Remember that crappy drug store pregnancy test?"

"Yeah," he says slowly.

"Turns out it wasn't so crappy after all."

He shakes his head. "What? I don't- I mean, you had your period and-"

"That wasn't a period. It was a miscarriage."

JD blinks up at Veronica, only then realizing he had collapsed onto the bench behind him. "A- A-"

"Apparently Mom's had a couple, so she like recognized the signs and- and- really, everything's good now, right? I mean, instead of me having to go to some clinic and shit, Mother Nature took care of it for us, right?"

"R- Right," he echoes.

"So anyway-"

"Are- Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she answers quickly. "No like, physical damage or anything like that. Anyway, I thought you should know and- and- I thought you should know." She glances over her shoulder. "I'd better get going. Mom and Dad aren't exactly happy about the whole suspension thing; they've already taken my phone and my car keys away.”

"No visitors either?"

"Probably not."

A horn blares from the parking lot. "Veronica Denise Sawyer! Get in this car right now!"

She jumps, her eyes wide. "What the fuck?"

"You better go. She sounds pissed."

"Yeah." She hesitates, then darts forward and kisses him, her mouth hard and desperate on his. The horn blares again and she tears free, trotting across the parking lot to her mother's car.

He stays sitting on the bench as Mrs. Sawyer pulls out of the parking lot, then he slowly gets up and walks over to his bike. He starts it up, and rides home.

His father is in his office (what the rental agent had called 'the formal dining area'), scowling at a set of blueprints as JD walks in the house. "That kid gonna be all right?"

"Yeah," JD answers. "Yeah, she's fine." 

"Good, good," his father responds absently, continuing to scowl at the blueprints in front of him. "'Consulting architect' my ass. More like 'featherbedding the mayor's burnout nephew'. No wonder the railroad abandoned this shithole town." Bud looks up. "What about you? Any nausea, dizziness, shit like that?"

"I'm good." He wonders briefly if he should say something to his father about the miscarriage, but really, there's no point; Bud has already turned his attention back to the blueprints. "G'night, Son."

"Night, Dad."

He disassembles and wipes down Friedrich's empty cage, dumping the bedding and uneaten food in the trash and placing the food dish and water bottle on one corner of his desk. He'll take them to be washed later. The disassembled cage and various toys go in a box which he places on a shelf in his closet. Then he lies down on his bed and stares at the ceiling.


	17. Chapter 17

"Care for a martini?"

JD shuts the window behind him. "Always been more of a bourbon man myself," he answers, pulling a bottle from his coat pocket.

Veronica pulls the bottom drawer out of her nightstand and sets it on the floor. "How do you take it?"

He shrugs out of his coat and tosses it over the desk chair. "On the rocks."

She reaches into the space where the drawer used to be and pulls out a rocks glass. "Almost started without you."

He settles on the floor next to her. "Had to wait until my dad went to sleep."

She goes to pick up the drawer; he stops her with a hand on her arm and peers inside the nightstand. There's a little nook hidden behind it; he can see a couple more glasses and what looks like a bottle of wine. Her gun is there as well, resting on top of the boxes of ammunition, as is an unopened package of razor blades. His eyes dart to hers.

She picks up the drawer and slides it back into the nightstand. "No idea what it was for, originally."

"Could be anything, a house this old." The Sawyer home is one of the older houses in Sherwood, old enough that he suspects Veronica's room, with its attached bathroom and location above the kitchen, had originally been meant for a live-in domestic servant of some sort, such as a governess or a cook/housekeeper, back when people had such things. More importantly though, it's at the opposite end of the house from her parents' bedroom.

They both lean back against the side of the bed, and she pours a generous measure of gin into a cocktail glass. "Technically I should be looking at a bottle of vermouth right now, but since I don't have one, fuck it. Imagining one counts too, right?"

He pours bourbon into his own glass. "I'm imagining ice cubes." He raises his glass. "Cheers."

She raises her own glass. "Cheers." They both drink.

"Ah, crap. With everything else I forgot to tell you: Friedrich died."

"Fuck. What happened?"

He shrugs. "Old age, basically. Hamsters only live for about three years or so."

She leans against him and lifts her glass again. "To Friedrich. Have fun running in that big hamster wheel up in the sky, little guy."

He lifts his glass. "To Friedrich." They drink again, draining their glasses. "So what was your mom so pissed off about?" he asks as he refills his glass.

"What wasn't she pissed off about?" She refills her own glass. "I swear to God, Heather has spaghetti where her spine should be. Fucking cooked spaghetti."

He raises his eyebrows.

She sips at her drink. "Mom leaned on her about Betty and she spilled everything."

"Okay." He frowns, takes a sip of his drink. "So why was your mom mad at you?"

"Apparently, one of us should have told an adult about what happened."

He pauses, takes another sip of his drink. "Did you explain that she asked us not to say anything?"

She snorts. "We, or more precisely, I, am far too immature and irresponsible to be making that kind of decision. Then the discussion segued into what a suspension means for my chances of getting into a good school, then about getting knocked up, and it went downhill from there"

"Ouch."

"Yeah." They sip at their drinks in companionable silence, until she says, "In a way, what happened to Betty is my fault. Kinda."

He sits up. "The fuck?"

She looks down, twirling the stem of her empty glass between her thumb and forefinger. "Betty," she says slowly, "never wanted to be popular. Not really. I mean, she liked the idea and all, but she never went after it. Not like I did."

He shakes his head. "That's not-"

Her head snaps up. "Don't you get it? If I hadn't pushed her, made her over- Miss Frumpy Finn would never even have known about that party. Much less been there."

"That doesn't-" He shakes his head again, runs a hand through his hair. "Look, you wanna blame someone? Blame the asshole that fucking raped her. That's what I'd do."

She stares at him, then her mouth twitches in a quick, humorless smile. "Thanks."

"Anytime." He leans back against the bed again.

"And it's assholes. There were two of them."

"Fuck."

"Yeah."

He drains the last swallow of his bourbon. They both refill their glasses.

"Speaking of those assholes," she says quietly, "I've been thinking. Maybe we... that just this once, we could..." she swallows heavily, then continues, "that we could let our monsters loose."

He freezes, licks suddenly dry lips. "What- What are you saying?"

She looks away, avoiding his eyes. "You know."

He does know. As wrong, as dangerous as this is, there's still a part of him that wants- He shakes his head. "No. No ich lüge bullets. Not this time."

"What?"

He lurches to his feet, stumbles to the desk, then turns back to face her. "No. No coy little hints. No," he makes air-quotes with his fingers, "misunderstandings. Nothing that let's you pretend later that this isn't exactly what you wanted. Say it."

"Fuck you." She's standing as well, her fists clenched. "You're the one-"

He slashes the air with his hand. "You want it? Fucking say it."

For a long moment she stands, her chest heaving, saying nothing. He's honestly not sure what he's hoping for. He's clinging desperately to the edge of a cliff with all his might, even as he yearns to launch himself over the edge.

"Betty," she says evenly, "is a good person. She wants to help people. She always has. And those- those bastards- took advantage of that. They hurt my friend. I," her voice rises to a scream, "want them fucking dead!" Her voice drops back down to a calm, even tone. "They deserve to die. As slowly and as painfully as possible. And I want- No," she shakes her head, "I will be there when it happens."

And he... is... flying! She is magnificent. Looking at her, he knows now why the Ancient Greek spirits of vengeance were female. No, not vengeance. Justice. She is Justice. They are Justice. The last of his doubts wither away, leaving him with clarity and a renewed sense of purpose. There's just one small problem. "Who are they?"

She bites her lip. "Betty never said. And I didn't want to push. Not then."

"We need to know."

"I know," she responds, and he can see the clarity in her eyes, the sense of purpose matching his own. "Give me a little time," she continues. "Betty trusts me. She'll tell me. Tell us." She steps forward and wraps her arms around him, tilting her face up to his, demanding the kiss he gladly gives, then she's pulling him back, down onto the bed with her.

He'd fooled himself before, pretended the doubts clouding her eyes weren't really there, but this time, she's with him completely, body and soul. And he is hers.


	18. Chapter 18

"Umm... should the car be making that noise?" Heather asks as she closes her door.

"It goes away once we start moving," Veronica answers as they pull away from the curb. "See?"

JD and Heather both look levelly at her.

Veronica grimaces. "Okay, fine. I'll tell my dad about it tonight." She glances in the rearview mirror. "So... what did you think about riding on a motorcycle? Pretty neat, huh?"

"It wasn't nearly as scary as I thought it would be," Heather admits. "Oh, hey, are we picking up Betty?"

Veronica nods. "She called this morning."

"How is she..."

"I've only talked to her on the phone since she got out of the hospital," Veronica answers. "She... sounds like the old Betty."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Betty steps out of her front door as they pull up. Her head is high and her shoulders are back as she strides out to meet them. She’s clad in a trim purple mini dress and leggings, topped by a cream-colored blazer. Veronica and Heather look at each other, then back to Betty, matching grins on both their faces.

Betty frowns as she closes her door, absent-mindedly shoving her old oversized glasses back into position. "Should the car be making-"

"I'm telling my dad tonight," Veronica answers as they pull away from the curb. "Looking good, girl."

"Oh. Thanks."

JD and Veronica exchange a worried glance. "Is everything... all right?" Heather asks.

"I... spoke with a detective," Betty answers. "From the Highway Patrol. Oh, he was nice enough and all but, since it's just my word against theirs about... what happened, there's not much the police can do."

JD and Veronica exchange another, grimmer glance.

"Ronnie, you remember miña avoa, non?"

Veronica's eyes flick to the rearview mirror. "Your... grandmother? Yeah."

"My mom... called her last night," Betty continues, looking out the window as she speaks.

Veronica's eyes flick to the rearview mirror again, then she pulls over to the curb and shuts off the engine. She and JD both twist in their seats to face Betty.

"She told me los grises once... took them- her e meu avó- took them in for... questioning."

Veronica draws in a sharp, hissing breath between her teeth. JD and Heather both tilt their heads curiously. Heather raises her hand. "The um, the grays?"

Betty turns to face them. "Las Fuerzas de Policía Armada."

"Basically, they’re the Spanish version of the Gestapo," Veronica explains.

"You're- You're talking about Guernica, and that shit," JD realizes. "The um, the Spanish Civil War."

Betty nods. "This was later though, after los falangistas had won, and were 'cleansing' Spain of any remaining republicano loyalists."

"Were your grandparents-"

Betty shakes her head. "Avoa said they weren't really political, not then. There wasn't a whole lot of fighting in Galicia during the war, and afterwards, everybody just... kept their heads down and tried not to be noticed." Betty draws in a breath. "They sentenced my grandfather to a labor camp for 'speaking disrespectfully of the Caudillo'. He was there for almost three years, mining for tungsten to sell to the Germans. Until the mine collapsed, and most of the prisoners died." She glances at Veronica. "That's why he's got that cane; the one you liked so much."

Veronica's eyes widen. "He just said he’d been in an accident, not-" She shakes her head. "And... your grandmother?"

"They held her at the comisaría for six months. They never charged her with anything but... my mom was born four months after they let her go."

JD and Veronica both swear. Heather's hand goes to her mouth. "Oh God, you're- you're," her voice drops to a harsh whisper, "pregnant?"

Betty blinks. "What? No!" She shakes her head. "I got that checked out while I was still in the hospital. I am most definitely not pregnant, thank God. No, my point was: Avoa said what los grises really wanted from them... was their fear. From everyone, really.

"Maybe I was a bit naïve," Betty continues. "It's not that I didn't know there were bad people- evil people- in the world. I did. But I guess I thought I was- was safe. Protected. Invulnerable." She shakes her head. "I'm not. And, going forward, I'm not going to be as careless as I was. I can't.

"But... I know- I know," Betty repeats for emphasis, "that there are good people in this world too. People who don't hurt other people." Her eyes flick to JD. "Good men. And there are more of us than there are of them. So yeah, I'm going to be a lot more careful from now on. But I fucking well refuse to be afraid anymore. Those bastards might've hurt me, but I'll be damned if they get to break me."

JD realizes his mouth is open, his jaw having dropped at some point during Betty's impassioned speech.

"Uh, guys..." Betty laughs awkwardly and pushes her glasses up. "Um, sorry. I know that was a little um-"

Veronica closes her own jaw with a snap and shakes her head. "No. God, no. That was- was- Wow." JD nods in emphatic agreement.

Heather nods as well, something close to worship in her eyes. "I can't believe the police won't even try to help you. We should totally-"

"No." Betty shakes her head. "It's done. It's over. I... survived. I'm alive and now... I- I just want to move on." She laughs softly. "Call it my own personal pacto del olvido. But the past... is the past. Let it stay there."

There's a long silence, then Veronica says, "All right."

JD wants to ask about justice, about punishing those responsible- but perhaps this isn't the best time. For all her brave words, Betty's still fragile; so for now, he just nods.

"We um, we'd better get going," Betty says. Veronica nods and starts the car.

"What you were saying earlier- what language was that?" Heather asks as they pull away from the curb. "I mean, not the Spanish; the other stuff."

"Galego," Betty answers. "Galician."

"Where's that?"

Veronica turns her head, giving JD a look he can’t decipher as Heather and Betty continue their conversation behind him.


	19. Chapter 19

JD dips the tip of his brush into the varnish and draws it out again. This will be the final coat, so he's careful to keep his brushstrokes smooth and even.

He doesn't understand Betty's way of thinking; if it were him he'd want reven- No. Justice. He would want justice. For her suffering.

And yet, he does understand her desire to- maybe not forget, he knows that's not possible- but to... set a painful memory aside. To move on.

He and Veronica can give her justice... of a sort. It's the right thing to do. Without question. And yet... if they just ignore what she wants... isn't that basically what those assholes did?

But to let them get away with it... to let them go unpunish-

"All right everyone, five minutes," the shop teacher calls. "Start finishing up."

JD inspects the memory box from multiple angles, touching up a couple spots where the varnish looks too thin. Then, being careful to only touch the board the box is sitting on, he picks it up and carries it to the back of the room, where he slides it into a cubicle labeled with his name. After that, he reseals the can of varnish and washes out his brush, finishing just as the bell rings.

There's no sign of any of the girls as JD enters the caf, but that's not unusual. The wood shop is right next door, while they have to navigate through crowded hallways to get here. He passes Peter setting up his "Give some poor Ethiopian the crap you won't eat" table on his way to the serving line.

As usual, lunch in the Sherwood High School cafeteria is... well, it's better than starving to death. Probably. JD sets his tray down and pokes experimentally at his Salisbury steak.

Veronica comes up from behind him and sets her books down. "Ooh, hamburger with pretensions. Yum."

"It's this, or something gloppy. And beige. By the way, how does Peter manage to get all that food from here to Africa?"

"Nightly zeppelin flights. Fuck."

He looks up at her in surprise, then follows her gaze across the caf. Betty might want to put what happened behind her, but it looks like certain other people will be more than happy to drag it up again. He starts to rise, but Veronica's hand on his shoulder stops him. "No." She shakes her head. "Girl stuff." She starts to weave her way through the intervening tables.

He can't make out what Courtney is saying over the general noise of the caf, but her smirk and the sycophantic giggling of her followers is clear enough. Betty drops her books and lunges at Courtney; Courtney shrieks and scrambles backwards, clutching at the arm of a tall brunette- the same one who had lied for her about Veronica.

The caf falls silent as Betty straightens- her lunge had merely been a feint- and her lips curl in a mocking smile as she shoves her glasses back into position. "If I'd pulled something like that on Heather Chandler, she'd have been back up in my face," Betty snaps her fingers, "like that. Hell, if anyone had. So would Heather Duke. But you..."

Even from across the caf, he can see the humiliated flush rise on Courtney's face as she shoves the brunette's arm away. Veronica has reached the confrontation now, and she crouches to pick up Betty's books, her eyes never leaving the group in front of them. Heather emerges from the crowd, adding her own glare as well.

Veronica straightens, Betty's books in her arms. "We done here?"

"Yeah," Betty answers, her eyes never leaving Courtney's. "We're done." She turns on her heel, turning her back to Courtney and walking away. Veronica catches Heather's eye and nods slightly before turning and walking away as well. Heather's glare sweeps over the group, pinning them in place before she turns and catches up with Betty and Veronica in a few loping strides.

He sees Betty hesitate- they'll have to turn around and go past Courtney to get in the serving line. Veronica touches Betty's arm and nods toward the front of the line. The metalheads at the front step back as they approach, opening up a space. One of them, a Joan Jett clone with dyed black hair, says something to Betty that makes her smile as they go through the door into the kitchen.

JD turns his attention to Courtney and her coterie at the back of the line. Most of the group seem to be simultaneously comforting Courtney and glaring toward the front of the line, although the brunette seems to be hanging back, an unreadable expression on her face as she rubs her arm. Maybe he should find out her name.

He stands as the girls approach, and pulls out Betty's chair with a sweeping bow.

Betty rolls her eyes as she takes her seat. "You guys are making way too much of this."

"You turned the tables on her and cut her off at the knees," Veronica retorts as she takes her own seat. "In public, no less. Think the old Betty could have done that?"

Betty grimaces. "She... would have wanted to." She picks up her spork and pokes at the beige glop on her tray. "But still, I- I don't like using violence like that. I should have thought of something better."

"It worked, didn't it?"

"That's not the point."

"I mean, it's kind like with a puppy," Heather interjects. The other three look blankly at her. "When you whack him on the nose? You're not trying to hurt him, just get his attention for... stuff."

Veronica shrugs. "Well, she is a bitch."

"Ronnie!"

"Oh like she hasn't called you a hundred times worse. A thousand times."

"Well, yeah. But that's still pretty insulting to bitches."

JD chokes, and only a hand quickly slapped over his nose and mouth keeps him from spewing chocolate milk like some paid-up member of the geek squad.

Veronica rubs his back as he wipes his face and hand with a napkin. "You all right?"

"Yeah." He crumples the napkin up and drops it on his tray. "Warn a guy next time, will ya?"

Betty smirks. "Sorry."

"Right," he drawls. Their conversation shifts to other topics for the rest of the lunch period, and while Betty seems to be doing fine, JD doesn't miss her frequent nervous glances toward the jocks' table.

Later, as they're leaving the caf, Veronica subtly holds him back, letting Heather and Betty get several steps ahead. The two of them are having a lively discussion and don't notice when Veronica steers him into a small nook that used to hold a water fountain. She's biting her lip, her eyes tracking Betty until she and Heather disappear around a corner. "She's... never liked fighting, or stuff like that. Even when we were kids." Her mouth quirks in a brief smile. "To be honest, she kept me out of trouble a few times. Maybe more than a few." She sighs, and turns her head to look at him. "I can't help thinking that she wouldn't want this."

"I... Probably not," he responds. "But... still..."

She tilts her head quizzically.

"It's just- I mean-" He runs a hand through his hair. "How many more Bettys are out there? Or will be out there, if we just... let these guys go?"

She looks away, teeth worrying at her lower lip. He wants to say something more- anything more- to convince her. To quiet her doubts the way discussing this with her has quieted his. But that's the mistake he'd made last time, when they'd talked about slitting Heather Duke's wrists. She'd been wavering, and he'd tried to push. Not that she ever would have agreed with him about blowing up the entire student body, and in retrospect that had been a little extreme, even for him. But Heather Duke, and maybe a few other assholes who really deserved it? Like the one who wanted to shove explosives up some poor lion's-

"Lance Palmer."

She's looking up at him, any trace of doubt gone from her expression. He releases the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Not too hard to guess who the second guy was, is it?"

She shakes her head, her eyes never leaving his. "How are we going to do this?"

"I've got some ideas. Your place? Tonight?"

"Mm." Her lips curl in a lazy smile as she presses against him, and he can feel an answering smile stretching his own lips as he lowers his head to-

"Veronica Sawyer! Jason Dean!"

They spring apart, his shoulders striking the back wall of the nook. She staggers briefly before regaining her balance.

Mrs. Ramey is standing in front of them, one eyebrow raised and the barest hint of a smile playing about her lips. "I know the two of you were not about to violate school rules regarding public displays of affection, were you?"

They both shake their heads.

"Don't do it again."

They both nod.

"Now get to class, the both of you."


	20. Chapter 20

"Nobody did shit; she's a fucking lying bitch. Hell, I w-"

The ski-masked figure grabs Pat Roberts by the hair and brandishes her pistol in front of his face. "You think we're fucking kidding around here, asshole?"

"L-Look," Lance Palmer says desperately, his eyes fixed on the pistol the second masked figure has pressed against his temple. He and Pat are both kneeling in the dirt as the two masked figures loom over them. "Let's everyone just stay calm and-"

The second masked figure smacks Lance across the face with the barrel of his pistol before pressing it against the bridge of Lance's nose. "Enough with the bullshit! We know what you fucking did."

"I had to!" Lance sobs. "She- She was just so incredibly hot. It's- It's like he said: looking like that, flirting with every guy there- but you knew she wasn't ever going to put out- that's like a crime or something. I just- I couldn't help myself. I had to. I had to."

The first masked figure looks up, her eyes meeting those of the second figure.

Pat glares at Lance. "You fucking motherfucker. I fucking b-"

The first figure jams her pistol beneath Pat's jaw and pulls the trigger.

Lance tries to jerk away as the second figure does the same. The bullet tears through Lance's tongue and upper palate before exiting through his left eye socket.

The first figure scrambles over as Lance writhes on the ground, aiming her gun at him. "Damn it, JD-"

"Wait," the second figure snaps, his own gun aimed at Lance as well. "Just wait a fucking second."

They watch as Lance's single remaining eye darts frantically back and forth between them. Unintelligible sounds come from his ruined mouth. Then his eye rolls back and his body slumps into stillness, his head lolling to one side.

"Fuck," the first figure breathes. "Is he..."

The second figure kneels, pressing two fingers to the side of Lance's neck. "Yeah," he says after a long moment. "Yeah." JD stands, pulling off his mask. "What about-"

The first figure nods sharply, cutting him off. "Yeah." Veronica pulls off her mask and returns to Pat's body, wrapping his hand around the gun. JD does the same with the other gun, pressing it into Lance's hand. The guns are a pair of cheap "Saturday Night Specials", bought from the kind of shop where paying a little extra means the guy behind the counter won't be able to remember your face.

She retrieves the bag they'd hidden earlier and pulls a bottle from it, handing it to him. He generously splashes both bodies until they reek of alcohol, then drops the empty bottle in the dirt.

Meanwhile, she pulls the note, scrawled on the back of a piece of paper torn from Pat's chemistry notebook, from the bag and places it beneath the driver's-side windshield of Lance's Firebird. The car is still running, headlights illuminating the scene they've created. She tosses the stolen notebook to the ground, then pulls off her gloves and stuffs them into the bag, along with her mask, before handing the bag to him.

He takes the bag and stuffs his own mask and gloves into it, then holds out his hand. "Come on."

She takes a step forward. "It. Should have. Been. Someone. Who. Cared. About. Her!" punctuating her words with a series of savage kicks to Lance's body. Then she walks around Lance's body to Pat's and delivers a final kick. "Asshole."

He has continued to hold out his hand throughout. She takes it and lets him lead her back to his bike.

They've barely gone a mile when she tells him to slow down. He does, glancing back to see her head swiveling from side to side, obviously searching for something. "There." She points, and he turns the bike onto the rutted gravel road.

Trees and underbrush crowd the lane, creating a tunnel-like effect in the darkness. The road ends after less than a dozen yards, blocked by a pair of chain-link gates. He halts the bike, bracing both feet on the ground. He feels her stand on the footpegs, then she swings around until she's straddling him. "Fuck waiting until we get home."

His foot fumbles to lower the kickstand as her lips descend on his, their fingers frantically tearing at buttons and zippers, shoving cloth out of their way. "They're an old pair," she growls as his fingers hesitate on her tights. "Just rip 'em." His fingers curl into a fist, and he grins wolfishly at her.

She gasps, her lips curling into a smile as predatory as his, then there are no more words between them for a while.

She's curled into his chest, legs still wrapped around his hips. His chin rests on top of her head, neither of them wanting to move in the aftermath, although he does manage to fumble for the key and shut off the bike's engine.

"We killed them, didn't we?"

He lifts his head to peer down at her, but her head is bent and the curtain of her hair keeps him from seeing her expression. "Yeah."

"I killed someone," she continues. "Not by accident, and not," she gives a small laugh, "let's be honest, trying to save my own ass. I... deliberately... killed someone."

"Yeah," he repeats, not knowing what else to say.

"I should feel bad about that, shouldn't I?"

He draws in a breath. "Do you?"

She lifts her head to meet his eyes. "Not one fucking bit."

He can't suppress the wide smile that spreads across his face. "Fuckers deserved it."

She grins back. "Oh yeah." She draws him down to her for a long kiss.

He leans back so she can swing her leg over and hop off the bike before he dismounts as well. The re-adjust their clothing and lean against his bike. She pulls out a packet of cigarettes and taps out two, handing him one. He pulls out his Zippo and lights first hers, then his before returning the lighter to his pocket.

The sun isn't quite up yet, and some of the letters have fallen off, but it's light enough that he can make out C MP T W NGA on the arch above the chain-link gates. "What happened with this place?"

"Oh, the Dunnstocks had to shut it down four... five years ago? Something like that."

"The Dunnstocks? As in Martha...?"

She nods. "Yeah. Her great-grandfather was like a minister or something, started it up back in like 1920 so ghetto kids could get a week of fresh country air and shit like that. Or whatever they called ghetto kids back then." She eyes the sign for a moment, then continues. "After he died, they hired someone to run the place for them. Then something happened and some kid got hurt and it turns out the guy was embezzling money instead of fixing things like he'd told them and a bunch of other shit."

"Well, fuck."

"Yeah." She blows out a long stream of smoke. "A lot of people think Martha's poor, just cause she lives on the south side of town. And she dresses like crap. But that's just where their farm is. I'm pretty sure they were here before Sherwood was even built."

He nods, taking another drag on his cigarette. It hadn't taken long for him to figure out the south side of Sherwood was the poor part of town- quite literally on the wrong side of the rusting tracks that had created Sherwood, and too far from the interstate highway that had given it new life. Poverty and obesity- the two most heinous and unforgivable sins. No wonder Martha has to sit alone.

"She used to act like she wasn't from here; like she didn't even get here until middle school."

"Martha?"

"Heather. She and her mom lived in a trailer, before she married Mr. Walsh. Her mom, I mean."

"Ah."

She contemplates the lit tip of her cigarette. "We're not good people, are we?"

He shrugs, deliberately casual. "Maybe not, but those assholes were worse."

"Mm," she hums in agreement. "Still, I think we need to be careful."

"Hence the gloves and masks."

"I mean our monsters."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Just... Just because we're not good people," he says slowly, "that doesn't mean we can't do good things."

"I'm pretty sure killing people counts as a bad thing. And enjoying it definitely does."

"Valid point," he concedes. "Still, it was for a good reason."

"And that's enough?"

"It kind of has to be."

She takes a final drag of her cigarette, then drops it to the ground, grinding it out with the toe of her boot. "I guess you're right." She squints at the half-risen sun. "Still, we probably shouldn't do this again."

"Yeah." He drops his cigarette and extinguishes it in the same manner. "Probably." They both stand, and he kick-starts his bike.

"Y'know," she says over the rumble of the bike's engine, "I could use some more practice."

He raises his eyebrows, then reaches for the key and shuts the engine down.

She narrows her eyes. "I meant riding."

He smirks. "Can't ride if you can't get it started."

"You know they make conversion kits."

"Yup, I know."

"Jerk."

It takes her several tries with her lighter weight, but eventually the engine catches. She gives him a triumphant smirk as she mounts the bike and revs the engine. "You coming?"

He settles behind her, his hands on her waist. "Just go slow until we're back out on the road," he instructs. "I'll keep us balanced."

She twists her head to give him a quick kiss, then shifts into gear and starts the bike moving forward. "I kind of hope I'm there when Betty finds out about this."

"You mean about how their guilty consciences drove them to commit suicide?"

"Exactly."


	21. Chapter 21

JD pulls off his helmet as Veronica dismounts. "I can't believe your mom is making me wear this thing."

Veronica pulls off her own helmet. "Considering how she was about me riding on this 'death machine' in the first place, I'd say we got off lucky. And it was funny how she yelled at your dad."

JD snickers as he dismounts. "I don't think I've ever seen him that flummoxed in my- woah. Nice."

Veronica follows JD's gaze to the convertible parked in the driveway. "Huh. Charlie must be home."

"Another brother?"

"Yup."

They leave their helmets on the seat and walk up the stairs. Veronica knocks and opens the door. "¡Hola! Somos solo nosotros."

Betty's mother looks up from her kitchen counter. "Roni, JD," her accent rendering his name into something like 'shay-dee', "hola." She gestures toward the backyard. "The girls are outside."

"Gracias." Veronica closes the door and turns around. "What? You think I could have been friends with Betty this long and not picked up a few phrases?"

"That... thing she was holding," JD responds as they start to walk around the side of the house. "It had tentacles."

"Sí. Es pulpo. Octopus." Veronica rolls her eyes at the disgusted expression on JD's face. "This coming from a guy who's eaten freaking raw fish." She drops her voice an octave. "Round these parts, son, we call that bait. At least this is cooked," she adds in her normal voice.

"Not the same," he protests. "I need to find a good Japanese restaurant and make you actually try some sushi."

"This is Ohio; good luck finding a Japanese restaurant period."

"Veronica!" Betty calls from where she and Heather are seated beneath an ancient willow tree. "Grab a chair and come tell Heather she needs to be applying to more places than just freaking Remington." The Finns' yard is smaller than the Sawyers', but just as carefully landscaped, sloping gently downward to a shallow brook that defines the rear edge of the property.

"Seriously?" Veronica calls back as she starts to cross the yard. "Remington's a fucking safety school, Heather." JD rolls his eyes and detours to pick up a pair of chairs from the patio.

"Maybe it is for you guys, but I'm going to be lucky if I get into college at all," Heather answers. "And at least it's close."

"Doesn't mean you shouldn't at least try," Veronica counters as JD sets a chair down behind her. "Besides, if you're worried about your grades, what about the community college?" She flashes JD a quick smile as she sits.

"Mm, good point," Betty interjects. She reaches down and flips open the lid of the cooler beside her chair. "Pop?"

"Thanks. I mean, it's probably just as good," Veronica continues, taking two bottles and passing one to JD, "at least for your first year or so. And definitely cheaper."

"I guess," Heather responds.

"You can always transfer later," JD adds. "I might end up having to do something like that myself, what with all the transfers on my record." He looks at the bottle in his hand, then over to Betty. "What's this? Some kind of Spanish soda?"

Betty nods. "Sometimes the PX up at Wright-Pat gets stuff in from overseas. Try it."

"I wondered where the octopus came from." JD takes a sip and nods approvingly. "Not bad. I thought your dad was retired."

"Oh, he is," Betty answers. "But since-"

"Wait, hold up," Heather interrupts. "What octopus?" She narrows her eyes suspiciously. "This isn't like when we go over to Veronica's and her mom brings out that pate stuff, is it?"

"You liked pâte until you found out what was in it," Veronica shoots back. "I mean, you'd eat that scrapple shit every day if you could, but pâte is-"

"Yeah, but scrapple's normal," Heather protests.

"What's scrapple?" JD asks.

"It's like the Amish version of goetta," Betty explains.

JD blinks. "Ri...ght."

"Just try it, Heather, okay?" Betty continues.

"I guess."

"Oh, um, not to change the subject or anything like that," Veronica says, "but my car is like, totally dead. It needs a new transmission and a bunch of other stuff too. My dad said it'd be cheaper to just buy another one, so I'm not going to be able to drive you guys to... school..." Her voice trails off and her eyes narrow as Betty and Heather exchange a smirk. "What?"

"Charlie... is TDY for the next hundred days and has to leave his car here," Betty answers, pulling a set of keys from her pocket and dangling them in the air.

Veronica's jaw drops. "Holy shit. Seriously?"

Betty nods, a wide grin on her face.

"1967 Camaro con-ver-ti-ble," Heather singsongs. "And guess who's got shotgun?"

Veronica shakes her head. "That is so fucking very."

"What's she got under the hood?" JD asks.

"327 small-block V8, with four on the floor," Betty answers.

JD whistles, then leans forward. "Betty, have I ever told you what a truly, truly lovely, kind and generous person you are?"

Betty laughs and shakes her head. "I had to promise Charlie on my life and by Santa Teresa y San Gabriel that nobody's getting behind the wheel of his baby but me."

JD straightens and leans back in his chair. "Oh well. It was worth a-"

"Beti!" Betty's mother steps down from the patio and approaches them, accompanied by a dark-haired man in a rumpled gray suit and a blonde woman in a tan and brown uniform.

Betty stands, the others following suit. "Lieutenant Falk? What-"

Falk holds up a hand. "Forgive the interruption, Miss Finn." He glances at the other teens with sharp eyes and gestures to the side. "If we could have just a few minutes..."

Betty shakes her head. "These are my friends, they already know about," she swallows, "everything. Um, this is Lieutenant Falk, with the Highway Patrol, and um-" 

"Deputy Varulv with the Westerburg County Sheriff's Office," Falk supplies. "She's part of the detail patrolling here in Sherwood while the local department is," he flashes a quick, tight-lipped smile, "reorganizing." He tilts his head slightly and looks at JD. "Mr. Dean, I presume?" JD nods. "And Miss..." his eyes flick back and forth between Heather and Veronica before settling on Veronica, "Sawyer?" Veronica nods.

"Um, Heather," Heather answers. "McNamara. Heather McNamara. Um, sir."

Falk nods. "Miss McNamara." His eyes sweep across the group of teens once more. Varulv is watching them as well, her blue eyes seeming to gleam in the shadow of her- JD doesn't think it's actually called a Smokey the Bear hat, but he doesn't know what else to call it. "I'm sure you're all aware of the recent deaths of Pat Roberts and Lance Palmer," Falk continues.

The teenagers all nod.

"What wasn't reported," Varulv says, "is that a note was found with the bodies."

JD stiffens. He and Veronica had wondered what had happened, if the note had somehow been missed or blown away or-

Varulv pulls a folded piece of paper from her breast pocket. "This is a photocopy of that note." She hands the note to Betty, who unfolds it and starts to read. Veronica fumbles for JD's hand, gripping it tightly.

Betty looks up. "This... doesn't make any sense."

Falk and Varulv exchange a glance. "How do you mean, Miss Finn?"

"I mean, Pat didn't- I mean, he wasn't even there," Betty stammers. "L-Lance said he was- was having dinner with some scout from Ohio State." She gives a short, bitter laugh. "Y'know, I actually felt bad for him when he said the guy wasn't interested in talking to anyone else on the team."

"Wait a minute," Heather interjects. "You mean Lance Palmer was one of-"

Betty nods sharply. "Yeah."

Falk and Varulv exchange another glance. "You're certain Pat Roberts was not the second individual in your case? He couldn't have used a false name or-"

Betty shakes her head. "I've known Pat since we were kids. We were at North Sher together."

"North Shore?' Falk asks.

"Sorry, North Sher," Betty answers. "North Sherwood Elementary."

"I um, I went to Hillcrest, actually," Heather answers as Falk's gaze falls on her. She scowls. "And I'm pretty sure Lance did too, the little shit."

"I, uh," JD clears his throat. "I just got here." He tugs at Veronica's hand when she remains silent.

"Oh, um, right," Veronica says hastily. "He- He was at North Sher. I... forgot about that," she finishes quietly.

Varulv peers closely at Veronica, but then Betty speaks in a hollow tone, her eyes focused on nothing. "David. He said his name was David." Mrs. Finn reaches out to her daughter, but Betty shakes her head, her eyes focusing once more. "He was definitely older, and I'm pretty sure someone said he went to Remington. I know he wasn't from Westerburg."

Heather frowns. "Wait... Remington... David... Tall guy? Dark hair?"

"Ye- es," Betty answers slowly. "That... sounds like him."

Veronica's eyes widen. "Oh fu- fudge. Heather's David?"

"Not me," Heather says quickly as Falk, Varulv and Mrs. Finn all look at her. "Heather Chandler."

Falk and Varulv exchange a glance. "This Heather Chandler-"

Mrs. Finn shakes her head. "She- She took her own life, Lieutenant."

Falk and Varulv exchange another glance, then Falk turns back to Heather and Veronica. "Is there anything more either of you can tell us about this David character?"

Veronica shakes her head. "I- We just met the one time. I didn't really talk to him or anything like that."

"Heather used to call him David Stepping-Stone," Heather says. "But I don't think that's his real name. She just called him that because he was a um, a 'small pond kind of guy' she said. Heather thought it was kind of weird- a college guy at a high school party- and Heather should leave him alone- and I kinda agreed with her- but Heather said he knew people and stuff- and that if you wanted to swim with the eagles sometimes you had to fuck a few turkeys along the way. Um, she said that, not me. Except I don't think eagles can swim, actually."

Falk blinks. "Ah... yes. Was there anything else, Miss McNamara?" Heather shakes her head.

"The fire," Veronica blurts out. "That frat house up at Remington- the one that burned down? That's where I met him. I mean, before the fire, but it was that same night. We'd left already," she adds. "When it happened."

"He's in a fraternity?" Varulv asks.

Veronica nods. "I think so. That's where the party was, and he acted like he was the one giving it. The party, I mean."

Heather nods as well. "I'm pretty sure Heather said he was in one."

"You wouldn't happen to recall which fraternity that was, would you?" Varulv asks.

Both Heather and Veronica shake their heads.

Varulv looks back and forth between them, then reaches into her pocket and pulls out some business cards. "If there's anything else any of you remembers, no matter how unimportant it seems, please, call me. If I'm not available the deputy who answers will take a message." They each take a card, and Varulv turns to Betty, gesturing to the note in her hand. "Miss Finn?"

Betty doesn't respond, her eyes distant once more.

"Miss Finn?" Varulv repeats gently. "The note?"

"Wha- Oh. Oh yes, of course." Betty folds the note and hands it back to Varulv, who replaces it in her pocket.

"Thank you all for your time," Varulv says, touching the brim of her hat. Falk nods as well. "Ma'am, if we could have a word before we leave?"

Mrs. Finn glances at the officers, then to her daughter. "Beti-"

"Es- Está bien, mamá."

She gives Betty a searching look.

"De verdad, estoy bien. Lo prometo."

Mrs. Finn gives her daughter another look, then nods reluctantly. "Si tú lo dices, querida." She turns and heads back into the house. Falk and Varulv follow.

As soon as the door has closed behind her mother and the two police officers, Betty whirls. "What have you done?"


	22. Chapter 22

"D- Done?" Veronica stammers.

"You're the only one who knew," Betty begins to pace back and forth, "the only one I said anything about Lance to- besides my parents and the police of course-"

"Guys, wait, what's going on?" Heather asks plaintively.

"-but they knew about David too," Betty continues, her words tumbling over each other, "I mean, I didn't want to say anything because I was afraid my brothers might do something stupid- but I didn't think- I mean it never even occurred to me-"

"Wait, wait," JD interrupts. Betty halts and looks at him. "Okay. Okay. Veronica did write that note. But they were already dead when we found them."

"When you found them," Betty repeats skeptically.

"Yes!" Veronica answers. "We found them. That's all. I swear."

Betty still appears skeptical, but beneath the skepticism, she wants to believe Veronica. Wants to believe her oldest friend. They just need- Veronica needs- to give her something, anything, no matter how paper-thin, to hang that belief on.

"Look, you know JD's been teaching me to ride, right?" Veronica asks. Betty nods. "We were out practicing when we- when we heard the shots.

"I honestly- We honestly didn't think anything more about it," Veronica continues. JD nods in confirmation. "Hunters maybe- something like that. It wasn't until we were heading back that we-" Veronica swallows, "that we saw them," she finishes quietly.

"There were- They'd obviously been drinking," JD says, picking up the thread of the story. "I don't know if maybe they got into an argument, or if it was just some dumb accident or- or whatever, but they'd shot each other."

"That's when I thought: people will act like they were saints," Veronica confesses. "Choir boys." She looks Betty directly in the eyes. "Instead of the animals they were."

"But Pat... didn't do anything," Betty responds.

"He was Lance's friend," Veronica counters. "Do you really think he didn't know? Wouldn't have... joined in, if he'd been there?"

Betty flinches, half-turns away. "I- I-"

"Maybe... what we did next, maybe it was, technically, wrong," Veronica continues. "But we did it for a good reason."

"I told you, I just wanted to forget," Betty says weakly.

"I know," Veronica responds quietly, drawing Betty into her arms and stroking her hair. "I'm sorry. I know."

JD is in awe. In less than a minute, Veronica has completely turned things around. And this absolutely brilliant woman is his girlfriend. His chest swells with pride, and-

"Have you done it before?" Heather asks. "A realistically low-key but hot and heavy note in Kurt's handwriting," she continues, her eyes flicking between Veronica's and JD's faces. "Have you done it before?" she screams. Her hands go to her mouth. "Oh God." She starts backing away, her eyes wide. "Oh God."

Betty jerks out of Veronica's grasp and takes several steps back. "I- I think you guys should leave now."

Veronica glares. "Neither one of you would be here if not for us."

Betty's face hardens as Heather clutches her arm. "And that means what, exactly?"

"It means maybe you could give us the benefit of the fucking doubt."

"The benefit of- How many notes did you write?"

Veronica scowls, her fists clenched, then she whirls on her heel and storms away.

JD sighs and shakes his head. "It's just a couple of goddamn notes." It's a long shot, but if he can keep them focused on the notes, rather than the murders, then maybe he and Veronica can... maybe they can... Fuck. He turns and follows Veronica, catching up with her in the side yard. They're about to round the front of the house when she suddenly halts and scrambles backwards.

"Hey Ang, let's hold up on Remington," Falk's voice comes from around the corner. "I want to pull the file on this Heather Chandler first."

"Works for me," Varulv responds. "Although," she continues slowly, "Heather Chandler... is not the only kid who's died around here recently."

Silence, then they hear Falk say: "Fuck."

They hear a pair of doors slam shut, then the sounds of a car starting up and driving away. They look at each other with wide eyes, then they scramble for JD's motorcycle, jam their helmets on, and roar away.

They've only gone a few blocks when Veronica begins repeatedly hitting JD's back. "Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid-"

"What the-" JD pulls to the curb and twists around to catch Veronica's flailing fist. "Veronica, what the fuck?"

Veronica yanks her hand free and slumps in her seat. "They're not the same. Kurt and Ram were playing fucking Pop Warner football together when they were like, five. Lance and Pat probably never even met until they got to Westerburg. I can't believe I-"

"That's what you're fucking worried about?" JD lowers the kickstand and dismounts so he can turn and face Veronica fully. He yanks his helmet off and throws it into someone's hedge. "Not the couple of fucking cops 'pulling Heather Chandler's fucking file'?" He throws up his arms. "That's what you're fucking worrying about? I mean, Jesus, Veronica- And what happens when fucking David has a fucking alibi? What then?"

"Stop yelling!" Veronica screams, yanking her own helmet off and letting it drop to the ground. "We killed the wrong person, JD," she continues evenly. She dismounts and stalks over to him, her stiffened finger jabbing into his chest to punctuate her words. "The wrong. Fucking. Person. I'd call that a pretty big deal."

"Okay, yeah, sure." JD blows out a breath and runs a hand through his hair. “So what now? What’s the worst- I mean, is Ohio a death penalty state? I don’t even know.” He shakes his head. “Wait, we’re kids, so that doesn’t-”

”Yes, Ohio is a fucking death penalty state. And we killed six people; I think they’ll make an exception. They’ll probably give us matching his-and-hers electric chairs!”

”All right, all right, fine.” JD paces back and forth. “You can speak Spanish. So we’ll go to Mexico and uh- and-”

”And what?” Veronica demands. “Hang out with Butch Cassidy and Billy the Kid?”

“The Sundance Kid,” JD corrects. “Butch-” He shakes his head. “That’s not the-”

Veronica sighs. “Yeah, I know a few phrases. Doesn’t mean I’m anywhere close to fluent.”

JD sighs as well. “Well, what do you suggest then? Cause if we stay here I can guarantee we’ll be spending the rest of our lives in jail. Or dead.”

Veronica slumps. “Andale, andale. Arriba. Yeehaw.”


End file.
